


Lost Without You

by darwinsdonut



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: America c. 2006-2008, Amputee Tucker, Background Lolix, Bitchface McSugarLIps, Blind Locus, Brief SouthMaine, CT as a Cat, Cliche Indie Concert, Donut's Booty Shorts, Eventual Mainelina, Florida the State, Grimmons, Junior as Tucker's Old Friend, Kaiboose, Lots of Angst, M/M, Mama Washington, Modern AU, North Dakota as a Dog, Oblivious Tucker, One-Handed Wash, Past Character Death, Platoon Leader Carolina, Platoon Sergeant Washington, Starbucks Sluts, The Beatles - Freeform, background docnut, church siblings, lots of fluff, mild homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-04-27 21:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 36,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14434503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darwinsdonut/pseuds/darwinsdonut
Summary: Tucker's been back stateside and honorably discharged from the military for over a year, and can't shake the thought of Washington from his mind- so he finally sets out to go find him.





	1. Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Flashback sequences begin with italicized text and are sectioned off by horizontal line breaks. Further explanation of tags at the end notes!

_Memories are the stars that brighten the night- and remind you of the winking dark._

Lavernius Tucker had once been known as Lavernius, a kid who ran the streets and dated whatever pretty girl would grant him a smile. 

Earlier still, he had been La-La, Lavvy, Verny, to a doting older sister and fading grandmother. Even that young he had won the hearts of those women to enter his presence. _A menace_ would be a better description of him than anything to do with romance, at that age- but the fact still remained: He was known all his life for claiming the hearts of women. 

Until Iraq. 

For eight months, he was known as Tucker, and he was known for having the best smart-aleck remarks and for being pretty close to his squad. Squad leader Private Leonard Church was an asshole and everyone knew it, but Tucker could crack him into a smile. Kaikaina Grif and Michael Caboose weren’t the most socially accepted soldiers- but over the months, it became apparent Tucker would jump on a grenade for any of them. Captain Carolina, platoon leader, hadn’t always been Tucker’s biggest fan, but they eventually reached a point that even she would admit his competence under fire. 

But it was the platoon sergeant, Sergeant First Class David Washington, who truly understood Tucker, and saw him for all that he was and had been. 

It wasn’t too common for privates and sergeants to be close friends- but they had helped each other enough, to grow as people, to understand what was important and how to achieve their goals, that by the end of eight months, no one questioned the friendship. Not even Tucker, who had never been particularly affectionate or accepting of others, except in the bedroom. 

Then Iraq was over. 

Tucker didn’t like to think about _that_ mission. More casualties than there should’ve been- a simple supply run gone horrendously wrong- and someone else took the fall Tucker had always expected of himself: his squad leader jumped on a grenade and saved his life. Any time the memories came back of how Tucker lost his leg from the knee down, he felt the familiar eternal ache, the memory of Church still weighing in his chest. When the discharge orders came and he was put through medical rehab for his leg, they offered a therapist to cope with his PTSD; he went to one appointment, couldn’t get the words out, decided he wasn’t ready anyway, and never went back. 

And now it had been sixteen months since that mission- and lately, it was pressing on Tucker’s mind more prominently than ever. 

But it wasn’t the loss of his best friend, or the pain of his leg (which he’d finally gotten the prosthetic for), that haunted him every night when he laid down in his quiet Florida apartment he shared with Caboose. It was Washington. 

It had been over a year now, and yet his platoon sergeant’s gray eyes, shining starlight in hot quiet nights, kept coming back to Tucker when he closed his eyes. He’d be almost asleep, and jolt awake from a half-dream about Washington’s laugh. The more private moments- the ones they agreed were a result of loneliness, and didn’t mean anything- haunted him worse, but they had agreed not to talk about it again, to leave the past in the past. 

And as the nights stretched for that sixteenth month, every dream filled with the same face, Tucker found he couldn’t keep pretending: 

He needed him back. 

* * *

_“The stars are different out here,”_ Washington said. “Positioned differently, I mean. It’s weird how all the constellations are in a different spot.” 

Tucker, sitting against the barracks wall, looked up at the sky with creased brow. “Don’t the constellations just move with the seasons? We’re still in the same hemisphere, just a little further south.” 

A pause, and then Washington chuckled. “Good point. I guess it just all feels different out here. And this _heat-_ how is it still hot at night? That’s gotta be what hell is like, right?” 

Tucker chuckled as well, and wanted to ask what Washington was used to. The first inklings of wanting to know more about his sociable platoon sergeant had taken bloom that week- and he was Lavernius Tucker, so he decided to go for it. 

“Are you from somewhere cold?” 

They hadn’t talked much about their personal lives, or _before the Army,_ but it settled easily around them both to speak on a more personal level for the first time. 

“Not freezing, but not this,” he said. “I’m actually from Washington- ironic, I know. Not too far from Mount Rainier, little town called LaGrande. What about you? Somewhere colder than this?” 

Tucker half-laughed, a breathy sound. “Detroit.” 

“Huh.” Washington looked him up and down. “Wouldn’t have pegged it.” 

“What, am I supposed to act a certain way, just because I’m from Detroit?” 

“Well, no, but… You just seem pretty Californian. You’ve got that flippant attitude and careless humor and kind of arrogant worldview.” 

“That’s pretty harsh,” Tucker said, grinning. “Would’ve bet you’re from Florida, old hippie that you are.” 

“Old?” Washington repeated, grinning back. “Now who’s harsh?” 

Tucker bumped him with his shoulder, glancing up at the night sky. “Still you!” 

“Insubordination!” Washington said, bumping him back. “And I don’t appreciate it.” 

A couple months ago, they had been constantly bickering and disliked each other quite a bit. But a few double-sided lectures had cured them both of all that, and with the mess tidied they’d come a long way. Tucker felt it now as he bumped Washington a third time, flicking blue eyes at the platoon sergeant, and had to suddenly remind himself that _was_ his superior. Friends or not, there were some lines drawn that shouldn’t be blurred. 

“You’re still old,” Tucker muttered as he realized the pause had lengthened. 

“And you’re still arrogant.” 

Tucker just laughed and shook his head. “Aren’t you the one who thought the stars were different just because of where we are in the hemisphere?” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

* * *

That had been ages ago, five months before _that_ mission. Tucker remembered it clear as day. 

“So, Caboose: repeat back to me the list of instructions.” 

This had been Church’s duty when they all first met, but it fell to Tucker now. Especially with him going on a long trip. Caboose, sitting cross-legged and too big on the couch, looked up as he mentally reviewed. 

“If I get hungry, go to the kitchen, face the trash-can, and right face and I will find the soup. And the spoons.” 

“And if you run out of soup?” 

“Call the Grifs.” 

“And if they don’t answer?” 

“Call the Simmons.” 

“It’s just Simmons. That’s his name. It’s not plural.” 

“The Simmons.” 

Tucker sighed. “Sure. The Simmons. And at eight o’clock every night?” 

“I take a shower.” 

“And if you run out of towels?” 

“I call the Grifs.” 

“And if they don’t answer?” 

“I call the Simmons.” 

“Okay. And at nine o’clock every night?” 

“I go to sleep.” 

“And if you need money?” 

“It’s on the coffee table.” 

“Try again.” 

“It’s under the coffee mug on the dining table.” 

“There you go. And how much do we go to the corner-store with at a time?” 

“Twenty?” 

“Right.” He breathed a sigh of relief. _Thank God._ “And what do we _not_ buy?” 

“Taki’s. Because they will bring back my stomach ulcers.” 

“And?” 

“Hot fries, and flaming hot Cheetos, and all the other good things in life.” 

_“Caboose…”_

“Sorry, Tucker.” 

He tried to think of anything else. “Oh- and the spare key?” 

“It’s under the plant outside.” 

“And if you can’t find it?” 

“I call the Grifs.” 

He nodded, relieved beyond belief. “Alright, Caboose- I think you’re ready for the world. Or, for a week of living on your own, anyway. One last thing- what do you do if you get lonely?” 

“I call Kaikaina. Because she is nice to me and won’t hang up until I’m done talking.” 

Tucker grinned. “Good job, Caboose. If you need _anything_ not on our list, call me, okay? And if anything happens, call me.” 

“Tucker?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I’ll be okay. You go have fun and finish your mission.” 

Tucker smiled, and took a deep breath. He couldn’t lie that he was procrastinating just a _little-_ but he’d never admit aloud that he was nervous. 

“I’ll try.” 

And he walked out, and met his cab, and whisked away down humid streets. And the afternoon pressed down like hot nights had, and phantom limb pain ached in his leg, or maybe that was just his thigh or knee, and his heart hammered and slowed and hammered and slowed. And he was on his way- 

To Washington.


	2. Sun

_Sun shines bright on fog, while rain pours clarity into the green._

Mount Rainier was bigger than Tucker expected. 

She loomed gray and white-capped into low-hanging clouds, her peak vanishing into the fog, as he drove parallel to the mountains in a rental car. He had one hint to Washington’s location- a letter Washington had sent three months after that mission, in which he noted the address as his mother’s. It was in LaGrande, and Tucker ached from the flight across the country, and there was a chance Washington didn’t even live here anymore, but he had to ask someone. This was his most reliable clue, and it was better than the other suggestions to find Washington. (He’d had the unfortunate luck of running into Sarge- the old platoon sergeant of another company in his battalion, known only as Sarge- at the airport, and endured an hour of suggestions to hack the FBI.) 

So maybe Tucker was driving across mountains on a vague hope that an old address would prove useful. Maybe his mind was convincing him this was a _terrible_ idea, and there was no actual hope of his plans coming to fruition, and, fuck, he didn’t even know for sure what he’d do if he found Wash. But he was here now, and that sign said _LaGrande - 16._ And he was sixteen miles from Wash, and sixteen months out from the worst day of his life exactly, and he could almost taste his goals by this point. 

The sun breached the clouds, turning shale clouds to ash and hitting the cracked highway asphalt with the sheen of recent rain. Fourteen miles to go. Tucker suppressed the urge to floor it and speed on toward his only hint; Wash had always gotten onto him for poor impulse control, and he couldn’t risk a wreck this close to home. Ten miles to go- the sun ducked behind its shelter of cloud, and heavy precipitation assaulted the land, pelting down so hard the landscape turned to a blur of green and gray. Tucker _had_ to slow down, and spent the next five miles going 30 MPH and absolutely _hating_ Washington. The state- not the man. Never the man. 

Three miles to go. There was his exit. 

He pulled over at the first gas station and asked a sultry, tired clerk if she knew where Free Street was. 

Ten minutes later, he was at the corner of Free and Lancer, sitting in front of a little boxy ranch house with a magnolia tree raining over the yard. The glossy green leaves caressed white blossoms, and Tucker remembered Washington telling him, _Maybe it’s a little gay, but magnolias have always been my favorite tree. Reminds me of home. _And that meant this had to be the place.__

__Tucker’s mind drew images of a gray-eyed pale-haired child sulking under the magnolia, a buzz-cut teenager reading. That dog- what had Wash said the dog’s name was? _Kota._ A golden retriever, Tucker thought. Anyway, it would’ve been under the tree, too, until Wash’s junior year, when he witnessed his first tragedy. _ _

__Tucker shook the thoughts away; they clung on, but he left the car, and tried to leave them behind, too. He was just looking for a _friend-_ he had no reason to be thinking so heavily about childhoods and magnolia trees and golden dogs. He took a deep breath as he approached the screen door. _ _

__The heavy wooden door behind the screen opened, and a round little woman with a bright smile and crows’ feet looked at him. Tucker nervously smiled back, trying to figure out if this woman could be Washington’s mother. She didn’t look a thing like- ah, but there it was: streaks of gold in the gray hair, the same curve to her nose. This _had_ to be her. _ _

__“Er, Mrs. Washington?”_ _

__She raised her curved gray brows expectantly. “It’s Mrs. Stone, actually- I never did marry his father. You looking for David?”_ _

___David._ For some reason, Tucker never did like his first name- and Wash hadn’t seemed to, either. Something about his paternal grandfather. And Tucker had _known_ his mom had a different last name, Washington had mentioned that, because it caused confusion at school and when he early-enlisted at seventeen. _ _

__“Oh, um, yeah,” Tucker said. “Is he around here?”_ _

__“Not remotely.”_ _

___Fuck._ All Tucker’s energy seemed to sap out of him, the tension in his neck from the plane ride finally felt in full, and his exhaustion weighed in. _ _

__“But he’s only about an hour away. If you wanted, you could come in and get a bite to eat, maybe a nap- you look a bit weary. And any friend of David’s is welcome here.”_ _

__Tucker could’ve been anyone, he reflected. He could be some kind of mercenary coming to kill Wash. He almost laughed at that, like he could ever do anything at this point to hurt Wash, but he composed himself. He was _really_ tired. _ _

__“Uh… Sure.”_ _

__Hoping it wasn’t too much of an imposition, Tucker crossed the threshold and entered a small, dark wooden living room. Pictures hung in alcove shelves, potted plants added light to the cherry-wood, memorabilia accented each surface. Blue velvet curtains were drawn from the window, a sheath of lace filtering the sunlight so intricate patterns danced on the floor._ _

__Tucker didn’t want to compare it to the shabby, run-down apartment he’d grown up in, but… Well, it was suddenly apparent how Wash hadn’t needed as much growth as Tucker. The energetic, round woman now bustling to a yellow kitchen, the magnolia tree in the yard, the dancing pattern of the lace- the picture Tucker now spied of Kota on the mantle- maybe if Tucker had grown up in this kind of environment, he would’ve been… Well. It didn’t matter now. But he understood more._ _

__“I’ve just finished lunch; do you like tuna? If not, I’ve got some leftovers in here- spaghetti, alfredo, lasagna, I’ve been on an Italian kick lately-”_ _

__A trill of a laugh as she dug through the fridge, and Tucker, defaulting to parade rest, said, “Tuna’s fine, ma’am. Thank you.”_ _

__He wasn’t known for respect or courtesy, but this was Wash’s _mom,_ and… For whatever reason, that mattered to him. A whole lot more than it should’ve, and definitely more than he’d admit. There was also the factor of Mrs. Stone reminding Tucker of his grandmother, before the dementia set in, and Tucker couldn’t be his usual careless asshole self to this woman. He just couldn’t do it. _ _

___And_ she was feeding him. _ _

__For free._ _

__That definitely counted for something._ _

__She invited him to sit at the little pine-wood circular table next to the kitchen, and he took a seat. She turned to him with raised eyebrows over lily green eyes._ _

__“Coffee? I’ve just made a pot.”_ _

__He hadn’t drank coffee since… It had been a long time. He’d never been huge on coffee. But this little room _felt_ like a room to drink coffee in, so he accepted her offer. She fixed a thick ceramic mug, turquoise and yellow polka-dots, with steaming brown-black liquid and set it in front of him. “Cream and sugar on the table if you need it, dear. Milk in the fridge; help yourself.” _ _

__“I prefer it black, thank you.”_ _

__He took a sip of the coffee, and it coated his tongue bitter and hot and _strong._ He swallowed down the gulp and found he liked the robustness, even if it might be more of an acquired taste. He continued to sip as Mrs. Stone prepared three sandwiches of tuna salad, and then set down a flowery porcelain plate on the table with six halves of sandwich. _ _

__“Help yourself,” she said, sitting expectantly._ _

__He reached forward and took a bite- and this wasn’t tuna salad like he’d known. It was canned tuna, and there was mayonnaise and pickle relish, but there were spices and other flavors mixed in, and it paired just right with the bread. And for a moment he highly envied Washington for having this throughout his whole childhood._ _

__“I’ve just tried a new recipe,” Mrs. Stone said. “I thought it was pretty good, what do you think?”_ _

__Tucker nodded, swallowing down the bite, and realized just how hungry he was. He’d eaten… In Salt Lake City. Six hours ago. Damn._ _

__“Delicious,” he said, taking another sip of coffee._ _

__“So- we’ve got you fed and watered, now how about you tell me your name, soldier?”_ _

__He looked up sharply. “How’d you know- uh. I’m Lavernius Tucker, just Tucker if you would. I was in Wash’s platoon in Iraq.”_ _

__Her knowing green eyes and smile stayed on his face, and Tucker warmed slightly under her gaze. “Ah, Tucker. And you’re looking for Dave?”_ _

__She knew him. Somehow. It wasn’t that unbelievable to think Wash had talked about him after they parted ways- but Wash’s mother knowing him… What had Wash said that those green eyes took that expression?_ _

__“Yes, ma’am,” Tucker said._ _

__She grinned. “You’re nothing like he described. How hard is it for you to keep up your facade right now?”_ _

___Facade?_ “I- what do you mean?” _ _

__“He said you seemed Californian, and you aren’t the first veteran I’ve known. I’m no stranger to strong language, Tucker. Or sarcasm. You can speak your mind.”_ _

__Tucker was taken aback, but felt the need to test it- this was either a set-up to see how far his politeness lasted, or it was a genuine invitation. But there was a challenge in her eyes._ _

__“Well, shit, I’ve been wasting my time, then.”_ _

__“That’s a bit better.”_ _

__He chuckled and took another bite of sandwich, almost through his first half-sandwich. After he swallowed it down, he asked, “So- how- how is Wash?”_ _

__He forced himself to eat and keep his interest minimal, but her knowing look only intensified as she answered._ _

__“He’s fine. Coping well with life after the military, though he’s had a harder time with PT since losing his hand.” She gave a motherly kind of exasperated smile. “The little things, you know? He’s out in Tumwater now, just outside Olympia.”_ _

__“Are you fucking- sorry-” Tucker sat back, shaking his head. “I flew into Olympia. And drove here from Olympia. _Fuck. Me.”_ _ _

__“I think that’s my son’s job.”_ _

__He choked on his coffee. “What- oh, my _God,_ he told you!?” She grinned. “No, but you just did.” If a black man could blush. _ _

* * *

____

____

_“Carolina? She’s a good_ one. Strict, disciplined, and tough as nails, but she’s got heart, too.” 

Tucker cocked an eyebrow, swallowing down the mud-water coffee their mess hall offered in the mornings. “She seems kinda- I probably shouldn’t finish that.” 

Washington grinned. “No, by all means, speak your mind. Tell me your harsh criticisms of my colleague.” 

Tucker chuckled, swallowing another papery sip of ‘coffee.’ “Oh, yeah, let me just bitch about my superior, to my other superior, what a _great_ fucking idea.” 

Wash grinned back at him, taking his own sip of mud-water coffee, his face screwing up at the taste. “God, this coffee is… Well. Washington makes it better.” 

“As in you?” 

“As in the _state,_ smartass.” 

“Wow, a whole state makes coffee the same way? Incredible.” 

Wash sighed. “Why do I talk to you?” 

Tucker grinned. “Because I’m likeable and charismatic.” 

Wash’s eyebrows lifted, skepticism rolling his eyes, and Tucker gaped. 

“What, are you saying I’m _not?_ Because I totally think I am.” 

Wash snorted, and then laughed, and shook his head at Tucker. _“Arrogant,_ I tell you. Arrogant.” 

_“Old,_ I tell you. Old.”


	3. Friends

_Friends- how they laughed, how they cried, how they reunited._

Fragments of the conversation with Wash’s mom haunted Tucker during the drive to Olympia. 

_How’d you know it was me?_

_The prosthetic leg was the first hint. He beat himself up for ‘letting you get hurt’ the whole time he was here. The second clue was your eyes._

_Because I’m dark-skinned with blue eyes? Yeah, I guess that’s pretty rare._

A smile. _No. Because every time the sky was clear, rare as that was, he’d get wistful any time he looked up. Your eyes are the same color._

She was intuitive, and Tucker had the feeling Wash hadn’t had to say all that much. She had just known. It was strange how quickly Wash’s mom grew on Tucker; he liked her a lot already. He kept pretending it was because she proved reminiscent of his grandmother. 

Wash’s new address rode in the passenger seat next to him, all the way to Olympia. He passed through Tumwater, the town kinda shabby compared to the neighboring city, and kept his eyes on the road the whole way through. Still his gaze darted, against his will, to any blonde male passerby- but none looked a thing like Washington, and Tucker shamed himself for being so pathetic and desperate. Just a _friend._ Even if he found Wash, he still couldn’t just walk up and- and what? Declare his love? Give him a big ol’ sloppy smooch? _No._ That was some gay shit. Tucker might’ve gone through a bi phase in high school, but they had both agreed whatever went down between them overseas would stay overseas. Tucker just needed his friend. And that was final. 

Tumwater vanished behind him as Tucker reached Olympia. His disability check wasn’t exactly _luxury hotel suite_ kind of money, but it could support him in a motel for a week. If he kept his food spending low. Damn, he was going through a lot for this. Maybe it was kinda gay. _Nope- not admitting that. Nothing to admit. Fuck._

Motel room secured, Tucker unpacked the rental car, stashing suitcase and carry-on bag in the room. He washed the plane-ride off him, letting the hot water drizzle over the knots in his neck and the steam cleanse his lungs of the must of exhaustion. His foot ached and his back was killing him, but he felt better after the shower. More awake, anyway. 

He calculated the hours; it was four here, so it must be… Seven? Eight? Seven or eight in Florida. Caboose should be awake, anyway. 

He dialed the number and waited, and then got the answering machine. He mentally checked again- seven. It was seven in Florida. Where the hell was Caboose? 

He called Grif; Grif wasn’t his favorite member of their fellow company, but when Grif had the energy to give a damn, he was pretty caring. And his sister Kaikaina- despite most of her conversation revolving around sexual jokes and raves- was somehow one of the most pure souls Tucker knew. She’d never let him down so far. 

Grif answered on the fourth ring. “Hey, Tucker. What’s up?” 

“Just calling to check on things; you heard from Caboose at all?” 

“Yeah, he called ten minutes ago and said he saw Doc and Donut at the cornerstore and got to pet their dogs. Sounded really excited. They’re all three coming over here for pizza.” 

_Phew._ “Alright, just checking in. How’s Kai?” 

“Still not available.” 

Tucker snorted. “Not why I was asking. Just checking.” 

“Oh. Huh. Well, she’s good. She’s going to a rave, so she won’t be here for pizza night except, like, the first half hour.” 

“Tell her to have fun and be safe.” 

Grif snorted. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be sure to.” 

Tucker sat down on his bed and laid back, tucking an arm behind his head. “You can think what you want, Grif, but I do care about your sister.” 

“Sure. So how’s Washington? Seen him yet?” 

Tucker had been about to reply that it was a pretty state, till Grif added that second part. “No, but I saw his mom and got his address. Got a hotel room nearby and just gonna eat and get some sleep. I’ll go visit him tomorrow.” 

“Huh. So you cross the whole country for this dude- that you’re ‘not gay for’- and don’t even want to see him at the earliest opportunity?” 

“Exhaustion and hunger, dude. Exhaustion, and hunger.” 

Grif snorted. “I get it. Well, Doc and Donut should be here any minute with Caboose, and hopefully not their annoying fucking dogs, so I gotta go to order pizza. You need anything else?” 

“Nah, just keep me updated if anything major happens. Bye, dude.” 

“Bye.” 

Tucker hung up and laid there for a minute. The tuna sandwiches had carried him over, but his body was reminding him with dizziness and a headache that he needed sustenance. Part of him… Desperately wanted to forget his bodily needs and drive back to Tumwater _now_ and go visit Wash. 

But he held it down. 

Ordered a pizza. 

Ate. 

Wondered what the others were up to. 

Turned on a cheesy 80’s movie that came in on one of the three available TV channels. 

Fell asleep. 

Flickers of memories, all fire and pain, things that yearned to be remembered, things he yearned to forget. 

And then the yearning he most felt appeared in vivid subconscious. 

* * *

_“Never a dull moment_ around here, is there?” 

Washington half-chuckled, but his eyes swam with tension. “Ah, no, I don’t guess there is.” 

Tucker rolled his shoulder, trying to shake the soreness from having it popped back into place. “Gonna hurt like hell for a while, isn’t it?” 

“You fell three floors and only dislocated your shoulder; feel lucky it was just that.” 

Washington’s tone was colder than usual, and Tucker eyed his commanding officer. In the stark, artificial yellow light of the shower room, both men in PT shorts and tops, about to go to bed, Tucker hadn’t first noticed the tightness of Washington’s eyes. He seemed to be trying hard to mask something, and his eyes flashed at Tucker staring. 

“What?” 

Tucker leaned on the sink, arms crossed, as Washington finished shaving and rinsed his razor. “Nothing. You just seem kinda… Closed off.” 

“It was a long day.” 

Tucker raised his eyebrows. “That’s not it, and we both know it.” 

Washington dropped his razor in the sink and turned to Tucker, words sharp and defensive. “What do you want me to do, pour my heart out in the shower room? Unload every memory today brought back? Tell you I was worried when you fell and scared to death I wouldn’t get to talk to you again? I’m your _platoon sergeant,_ Tucker, not your fucking best friend.” 

It stung, at first, and then Tucker let the tone roll off him and read the words Washington wouldn’t say. “Hey, man, I’m just trying to be there for you. We’re all in this hell together.” 

Washington braced himself on the sink, hands palm-down. “You don’t get it. If something happens to any of you guys, that’s gonna haunt me for the rest of my life.” He turned his head, shielding his face from Tucker’s prying gaze. “I won’t be able to stand it if something happens to you. To- to you guys.” 

And Tucker heard what he wouldn’t say, that it was about the whole platoon but that Tucker was the one who almost died. And that bothered Washington more than he wanted to admit in ways he wouldn’t say, and Tucker flashed back to Washington’s hasty retrieval of Tucker from the base of the building. Washington immediately radioing in for help. 

“Hey… Wash, if anything happens to me, that’s not your fault.” 

Washington looked up, gray eyes strained, heat flaring behind the mask of tension. “Tucker- it’s- completely inappropriate, but I can’t stand the thought of losing you.” 

Tucker gasped, understanding dawning. 

It wasn’t about Washington’s sense of pride. It wasn’t about him not being able to stand losing one of his troops. It wasn’t about his friendship with Tucker. It cut deeper than that, into a part of Washington Tucker hadn’t expected to access. 

On impulse, he shuffled a couple steps closer to Washington. 

He didn’t know what he was doing. This was his platoon sergeant. His superior. His commanding officer. They were deployed to this hellscape. And Tucker’s shoulder ached. And he blamed it on the pain and the kind of day they’d had and the adrenaline still buzzing, but Tucker wasn’t thinking clearly and Washington’s gray eyes bore into him, and it- nothing mattered like it should’ve right then. Not to Tucker. And Washington certainly wasn’t stopping him from coming closer. 

And who would initiate? Who would be brave enough to make the move that would make everything different? Who would be first to admit in action the way neither of them could confess to feeling? And it could lead to so much trouble- cause so much pain and strife- make everything so much worse- 

Tucker’s hand found Washington’s jaw, thumb on his cheek. Eyes darted to lips. Could it-? 

A blank kind of buzz filled Tucker’s mind, either too many thoughts to process at once or nothing at all, he couldn’t tell, as Washington turned, put his hands on Tucker’s cheeks, and kissed him. 

Washington kissed _hard,_ rough, pressed against Tucker so Tucker stumbled back. All teeth and fast-moving lips and ragged breath and roaming hands and it was something Tucker had never known he needed. Washington clutched the back of Tucker’s neck, one arm around his side, pulling Tucker against him. And Tucker was just following the leader at this point, kissing hard back because it was all he knew to do right then- 

And then it was over. 

Just like that. 

Two men panting in a shower-room with swollen lips and flashing eyes, dawn blue and steel gray. 

“We…” Washington took in a breath, eyes searching the floor for answers Tucker knew he wouldn’t find. “We can’t tell anyone about that.” 

“I know,” Tucker said. And he wanted to throw himself back at Washington, but- but it wasn’t the time or place, and he was _reeling_ from what just happened, and everything was hot and flashing lightning, and his mind turned over itself trying to process what they’d just done. What couldn’t be undone. What couldn’t be talked about. 

“We won’t talk about it,” Tucker promised. 

* * *

The gray-blue of predawn barely silhouetted the blinds of the motel room when Tucker woke. He’d had the dream plenty of times, but the realization hit- he could do something now, make it a reality, in just a ten minute drive. 

Just that fast, he was out of bed. He struggled through his suitcase for what would be the right thing to wear. Decided it didn’t matter. Buttoned on a three-quarter-sleeve button-down, the same blue as his eyes, Kaikaina’s suggestion at the store for him to wear on dates. Jeans. Socks. Shoes. Keys in pocket. Wallet in pocket. Room key. Heart pounding. Go time. 

He swept out the door, locked it, ran down the steps, and tossed himself into the front seat of the rental car. _Seatbelt. Turn down the radio. Back up a little. Indie music- good. Soothing. Back out of parking spot. Check map at turn._

And then it was streets, and searching for names, and then- Chorus Lane appeared. Oh, fuck. This was actually happening. Tucker’s heart was thumping too close to his dry throat as he cruised down the road. Ten minutes had proven too short and he wasn’t ready for this. He was going to see Washington again. Oh, shit, he was going to see Washington again. Was he even ready for-? 

There. 

110\. 

It was 6:17 a.m., February 4th, 2007. 

The door was green. The house was a small beige-brick affair, brown shingle roof and a few shrubs in the yard. No fancy yard decorations. Tucker parked by the curb, as a little faded turquoise truck sat in the driveway. And he wouldn’t put too much into that, they’d talked a lot about how turquoise was a nice color and Tucker had taken months to realize Wash was talking about his eyes, but it was just a truck and didn’t have to mean anything. 

A calico cat watched Tucker from the porch as he got out of the car and crossed the lawn. 

6:20 a.m. What the fuck was he doing? Wash probably wasn’t even up yet. It was barely dawn. You couldn’t even see the sun- though that could be clouds, he couldn’t tell, it was still too dark. But Wash had always woken early… But they’d been on deployment. His heart was erratic, his thoughts worse, and his fist met the door as the calico cat wound around his feet and meowed into the morning. 

It was only twenty seconds before the golden knob turned on the olive green door. Tucker’s heart was in his throat, fight-or-flight battling in his mind, and then- 

Carolina. 

Captain Carolina stood in the doorway. 

Well, that certainly wasn’t part of his plan.


	4. Thorns

_Bitterness brews like thorns gnarl, changing hearts from soft bloom to ruined parts._

“Private Tucker?” 

Tucker sought a smooth recovery. _C’mon, man, just say something rude and kinda sexual._ “Uh- hey, Carolina. I didn’t know I was ringing _your_ bell.” 

_Well, that wasn’t up to his usual standard._

“Um.” 

“...Bow-chicka-bow-wow.” 

A head poked out from behind the wall almost a second after that. Tucker missed whatever she said in response. 

Washington had stepped into view. 

His hair was blonde as ever, gray eyes finally relieved of shadows and sleep-deprivation but widened in shock. He wore jeans, and converse, and a baggy hoodie way too big for him that read “I went to Maine and all I got was this lousy sweater.” Tucker only realized then he had never seen Washington out of army-affiliated clothing, either PT clothes or ACUs or dress greens, and had never thought of another man as adorable- until now. If his heart still pounded, he was only dimly aware of it. His eyes were locked on Washington’s, and all he knew was that he was finally _there._ Tucker felt dizzy, and then Washington spoke, and broke the moment. 

“Tucker? What are you- how did-” Washington’s eyes dropped, and the calico cat _meow_ ed loudly, still weaving around Tucker’s feet. “Um- that’s- that’s my cat, CT.” 

The calico looked up at her name and mewed again, climbing over Tucker’s shoe. Tucker looked down at it and then up at Washington. “I- I didn’t want to bother you- I just-” 

“Come in,” Washington said. “Don’t worry about it. Carolina, would you start some coffee?” 

She knew where he kept the coffee pot, grounds, filters- _fuck,_ Tucker was an idiot. He’d thought Washington just admired the platoon leader. But now he saw her showered and in a _turquoise_ tank top and shorts, and he could see the appeal. But dammit, he didn’t want to. 

He stepped into the house as Carolina went to start coffee. The cat followed, and then disappeared down a hallway. Tucker walked forward until he was about five feet from Washington, and then held back, heart pounding. Fucking stupid heart. Needed to calm down. Fuck. 

“So,” Washington said, looking at Tucker. “What- um- what brings you here?” 

_What brings-_ if Tucker didn’t know better, he’d think Washington was just being a straight _asshole._ Keyword on straight. Fuck. 

“I- can I use your bathroom before we get into that?” 

Tucker needed a minute to compose himself. He was never this flustered, and really, he should be happy for Wash. That was just his friend, anyway, and no reason to be- he wasn’t jealous- no reason to be… Whatever this stupid feeling was. Stupid feelings. 

“Uh, sure. It’s just down the hall. On the left.” 

Tucker turned on his heel and made his way down the hall. He numbly entered the bathroom, flicked on the light, locked the door. Braced himself on the sink. _Fuck._ He looked up at his face in the mirror, seeing his blue eyes betraying the turmoil and shock he felt. He didn’t know _why_ he’d thought this was a good idea. Oh, but he did. 

Some part of him had needed Wash since that day he fell off the building. A bigger part of him had _wanted_ Wash since he first met him. And mostly- mostly Tucker just felt Wash’s presence in everything he did, everything he saw. A stray cat on the street, a cloudy sky, a pack of Twizzlers at the movies. And Tucker had been the fool that let it get to him. 

Now he needed an excuse to even be here. Was _I missed my friend_ good enough reasoning? It didn’t feel strong enough. Fuck. You didn’t just cross a whole country because you wanted to see an old friend. Especially without any warning. 

Maybe he was in Washington for another reason. Yeah, that could work… If Washington remembered, he’d know Tucker’s family was from Detroit. Family couldn’t be a good excuse. Work? He was retired and only had a leg and a half and the army still gave him money for that. Not much, but he didn’t need to work. A- a convention? A festival? His mind remembered the newspaper the motel had provided, left on the nightstand by his bed when he got into the room. Something about… Flowers? Azaleas? He tried to remember the picture. Lots of flowers, real pretty, lots of colors… Tulips. Tulip festival. But why would he come all the way up here for flowers? _Fuck._ Especially coming up here alone. 

_Fuck._

Maybe he was planning a camping trip. Alone. In the Washington wilderness. Or- or he was here for a concert. But who was playing? Who even played in Washington? Indie bands? Canadians? 

He drummed his fingers across the sink, closing his eyes. Fuck, fuck fuck. 

His eyes opened. 

He’d just tell the truth. 

Fuck it. What’s the worst that could happen? He loses his friendship with Washington? It wasn’t like it had been that strong in the past sixteen months, and he’d been just fine. Okay, fine, he hadn’t been _just fine,_ he hadn’t been fine at all since Church died. And Washington had been the thoughts and memories he clung to during the hardest days following that, and it was obvious Washington hadn’t reciprocated that, and _fine._ Fine. Tucker didn’t care about that. Washington could fuck Carolina right through the church doors and marry her, Tucker didn’t care. (He _did,_ but he wasn’t going to admit that.) 

But Tucker needed Washington. Washington was the only one who understood just what Tucker had been through. 

He flushed the toilet to pretend he’d actually been in there for a reason, and when he stepped back into the hallway his composure was back in place. He shut down the memories threatening to surface, quashed the sharp, bitter sting that shot through his chest, and walked back down the hall. To the right, ahead of the door, was a living room, where Wash sat on a green couch three shades too dark and a shade too blue to match the door. Tucker entered the room as a car started up outside. He glanced at the door and gestured with his thumb, sending a questioning glance to Washington. 

“Carolina thought it best she go home.” 

Tucker paused. “She- doesn’t live here?” 

Washington snorted. “God, no. She still sees me as the dorky little sergeant she served with in Iraq. She just had a bad night last night and came by; we’re kind of… Battle buddies, I guess. Helping each other through the shit we went through.” Tucker sat in an armchair as Washington added, “Is that- why you’re here?” 

Was he here to talk about the past and dredge up painful memories? No, not exactly. What he really wanted was to sit on the couch next to Washington, lean on his shoulder, forget about life for a while and find out more about this civilian version of Washington who had a cat and wore oversized hoodies. 

“Yeah, kinda. So, wait, you and Carolina aren’t…? A thing?” 

Washington chuckled. “I see you haven’t changed a bit.” 

_Have, too._ Tucker repressed his bitterness. He held down a heavy sigh. “I have. Not much, but I have.” 

“I’m sure. It’s just easier to… Anyway. Coffee? You can finally try it Washington-style.” 

A ghost of smile flittered over Tucker’s expression. “Like the man or the state?” 

Washington stood. “Both.” 

He headed into the kitchen, just at the end of the green couch, and it wasn’t decorated like his mother’s and his living room was kinda shabby. But it smelled like coffee and Washington looked healthy and Tucker felt a pang in his heart because it was really settling in that- Carolina or no- he couldn’t just roll back into Washington’s life and bring up things they’d agreed never to talk about. Washington had made his own life, up here by his mother and his hometown, far and away from Tucker. Just because Tucker thought about Washington so often didn’t mean Washington had any obligation to feel the same. 

But _God,_ did Tucker wish he felt the same. 

“Sugar?” 

“Yes?” 

Tucker replied immediately, and then realized Washington meant _in the coffee. Fucking hell._ Washington’s eyes met Tucker’s for a long moment, his eyebrows raised in surprise, as Tucker’s skin heated. Holy _shit,_ he just replied that instantly to a pet name. 

Tucker threw on a smirk. “Need something, cupcake?” 

Washington rolled his eyes. “Yeah, to know how you like your coffee.” 

Tucker laughed lightly. “Black is fine.” 

Dammit, he wanted sugar. But the kissing kind. Slang is so stupid. And no one called it ‘sugar’ anymore. He suppressed a mounting groan as Washington returned with coffee. A basic turquoise mug was set down on the table next to him, and Tucker suppressed his wince. Turquoise didn’t mean _anything._ Not to Washington. And Tucker needed to stop reading into every little thing; his damn hopeful heart was sabotaging itself. 

“Thanks for the coffee,” Tucker said, taking a tongue-burning sip. Washington nodded, setting his own yellow mug on the table and sitting back on the couch. 

“So… Must be pretty important for you to be willingly awake before noon.” 

Another pang. Washington knew him _so fucking well._ Tucker wondered if that included knowing the real reason why Tucker had crossed the country- but he doubted it. Washington wasn’t oblivious, but they’d been very clear on their agreements. 

“I just…” Tucker looked down, and his eyes fell on his left knee. The slight bulge of metal under his jeans. His sigh finally escaped him. “It’s been hard, dude. I can call you dude now, right? Without feeling weird about it?” 

Washington laughed. “Yeah, Tucker. I’m not your CO anymore. To be frank, you can call me whatever the fuck you want.” 

“Bitchface McSugarLips it is, then.” 

“Please not that.” 

Tucker chuckled, but he didn’t feel it. He’d always been good at facades, though, and he kept going. “So, Bitchface McSugarLips, how have things been with you, up here in sunny Washington state?” 

Washington snorted. “Oh, it’s been _great._ I’ve been learning to do everything right-handed since,” he lifted his left arm, which ended at the wrist. “Well, you know. Carolina’s come by a lot, mostly for her own reasons. She had more duties than me and kinda had it worse after everything. She talks about her nightmares and her memories, and I let her know she’s not the only one who feels those things. I’ve been seeing a specialist in Olympia, trying to get a prosthetic fitted, and she just… Keeps trying to psycho-analyze me. She’s qualified for it, but she’s supposed to be a surgeon, not a psychiatrist. And I have CT. That’s about the whole of sixteen months.” 

Tucker raised his eyebrows. “I’m supposed to believe you spent _sixteen months_ moping about your gimp arm and helping a smoking hot redhead through her bad memories?” 

Washington coughed back a laugh, and grinned as he took a sip of coffee. “Um, well, that’s pretty much all that happened. You’d be surprised how debilitating it is to learn to do everything with your non-dominant hand. And I think if I tried to hit on Carolina, she’d just punch me in the face and carry on with whatever she’d been saying. She’s… Not my type, anyway.” 

Tucker didn’t miss the flinch in Washington’s eyes as he finished that sentence, and Tucker swallowed down the question of, _What is your type, then?_ That would _definitely_ push the conversation the way Tucker wanted it to go- but that wasn’t quite right. He was past the pretense of _just friends_ at this point, but still not that hopeful. 

“So, how about you?” 

The conversation moved forward with Tucker’s question, pressing into easier topics. Caboose’s stomach ulcers and sudden love of Taki’s as they destroyed him. The neighbors back in Tampa- Donut and Doc, the gay couple who always walked their dogs around the neighborhood, and Felix and Locus upstairs, _annoying as shit_ redhead and a blind dude who seemed 1000% done with everyone else’s shit. Grif and Simmons, who had been in the recovery ward with Tucker and Caboose. Sarge, at the airport. 

Washington opened up more throughout the morning, but the feeling was still all wrong. Maybe it was because Tucker had closed himself off to keep from spilling his guts, but this wasn’t even the friendship they’d had. Maybe it was sixteen months’ difference. Whatever it was, Tucker just wished he had back the original relationship he’d shared with Washington- the joking and storytelling and _connection._ This was none of that. This was two people talking because they had known each other long enough that they felt obligated to, filling a room with words and saying nothing. And Tucker was used to talking about nothing, he did with Caboose all the time, or Grif or Kai or even Simmons- but rarely with Washington. 

A quarter past eight, Tucker’s phone rang. The Caller ID read Caboose and Tucker stepped out onto Washington’s back patio to answer. 

“Heya, Caboose.” 

“Hi, Tucker.” Caboose’s voice sounded heavy, tired. Tucker’s brow creased, but before he could even consider possibilities, Caboose asked, “Have you ever been to a rave?” 

“What the _fuck?_ Caboose, did you go to a rave!?” 

“Yeah. But talk a little quieter, please? Kaikaina said I should go with her because it would be fun. There were some really nice ladies. I wore a net shirt.” 

“Are- are you hungover?” 

“Is that what it’s called when the sun hurts?” 

“Did you have _alcohol_ last night?” 

“I am twenty-three years old, Tucker.” 

“I- I know. But you just… Fuck.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, and then moved his hand to his hip. “Did you _take_ anything?” 

“I took a lot of pictures.” 

_God dammit, Caboose._ “Drugs, Caboose. Did you take any pills? Put anything on your tongue?” 

“Kaikaina said not to accept anything anyone gave me. Except her.” 

_KAIKAINA._ He was gonna kill her, fucking hell. “What did she give you!?” 

“A twelve-pack of Coca-Cola to last the night.” 

“Oh.” Maybe he wouldn’t kill her. “That’s not too bad.” 

“It was a lot of caffeine. She also gave me a bottle of vanilla rum so I could be popular.” 

_KAIKAINA._ “And how much did you drink?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t have the bottle anymore.” 

“Did you give it away?” 

“I might have given it away.” 

Tucker leaned on the brick wall, looking up at the gray sky. Rain started to patter against the patio roof and the grassy backyard. “Alright. No raves, okay? Not without me there.” 

“You would’ve liked the ladies.” Caboose dropped his voice to a whisper. “Most of them didn’t wear real shirts.” 

“Caboose.” 

“Hey-chicka-bum-bum.” 

_“Caboose, we talked about that!”_

“Sorry.” 

Tucker rubbed his temple and said, “Okay. No more raves, okay? Not unless I’m there to supervise.” 

“That sounds like a smart idea. My eyeballs hurt. I think I’m gonna go back to sleep.” 

“You do that, Caboose.” Tucker sighed. “Get some rest, and if you gotta throw up, just let it out.” 

“That sounds terrible.” 

“I know. Bye, Caboose.” 

“Bye, Tucker.” 

Tucker hung up the phone and pocketed it, and then crossed his arms, looking out into the yard. The door opened and Washington stepped halfway out. 

“Everything okay?” 

Tucker sighed again, half a laugh interweaving with it. No, everything was _not_ okay. Nothing had really been okay in- sixteen months? Definitely longer. Church dying hadn’t been the start of the downward spiral, just a painful accent to it. Like a kraken in the middle of a whirlpool. And now Tucker was all the way across the country, while Washington still didn’t care as much as Tucker did (not a dynamic Tucker was used to) and Caboose was going to raves. Tucker had only been gone a day and already a week felt like an eternity. _Fuck._ This just wasn’t working. And really, Washington was just one guy- and clearly had his own life already- and Tucker… Could move on. _Would_ move on. 

He forced a tight smile at Washington. “It’s fine. I just realized it was a mistake to come here. I’m sorry to bother you.” He shouldered past Washington, back through the door. “I didn’t want to mess up your morning, you’re just my old platoon sergeant, anyway.” 

He started for the door, the words acid on his tongue and the sting in his heart spreading. 

A hand grabbed his. 

He’d know that warm, callused hold, square palm and round fingers, even if he were blind. They hadn’t ever had the hand-holding kind of thing, but it had occurred on occasion during… Other moments. 

“No, Tucker, stay. Please. I just don’t know how to act around you anymore. It’s been a while, you know? Just… Stay. We’ll talk. I need this, too.” 

And it brought back the dream from that morning, memories of words unsaid and lines to be read between, and Tucker ached for Washington to say what he was feeling and ached that he never would. He withdrew his hand from Washington’s, and turned and met those steel gray eyes that had haunted him for so long. Washington had asked him to stay- the words pulled at heartstrings and twisted where Tucker ached, and it’s not the words he needed but they were words he’d take. He’d take Washington coffee not quite like Washington’s mother’s and conversation and pleading gray eyes. Because it was better than his empty bed in Tampa, even if it was unrequited and brought him unexpected agony. 

“Okay.”


	5. Hands

_Give me your hand and I’ll clear dark skies; give me your words and your memory will clear mine._

 

Tucker didn’t quite know how he’d gotten into this situation.

He knew the hotel room ceiling was no longer the most interesting thing to look at, but he didn’t dare tear his eyes away from it. He could hear breathing across the bed from him and it soothed his aches and heightened them all at once. _Holy fuck. Wash is so close._

He could reach out and touch Wash- and he wanted to, but wouldn’t- in his bed.

It was the motel room bed, and it was because they’d come back to the motel after going out to eat since it was closer. And the movie had been just a little longer than they expected, and Washington had kinda nodded off, and then woken up, and Tucker hadn’t put any hope behind offering to just share his bed rather than Washington drive home half-asleep.

And Washington hadn’t cared there was only one bed, and had accepted his offer.

Washington was asleep.

Tucker was wide awake, as close to heaven as unrequited want would allow.

For over a year now, Tucker had longed to have Washington back in bed with him- and for it to be more intimate than anything they’d done overseas. Overseas, it had been… Filling a void, satisfying a need. A quick moment in a closet, or sneaking into the barracks’ bathroom once everyone was asleep. Quick, rough, and they pretended it was meaningless. Because it couldn’t have meaning, not over there, not when death waited at sunrise and they had a professional relationship that could get them both in trouble. They were fuck-buddies, nothing more.

Tucker had thought since getting back state-side that if he ever got Washington in his bed again, it would be after they made up for every quick, lackluster moment in a closet. It wouldn’t be sleeping two feet apart, or not sleeping on Tucker’s part. It would be arms around each other, warm chest against warm chest, head on a shoulder and even breathing and all the intimacy and connection Tucker had been missing.

The reality also brought the startling realization of what a fucking optimist and romantic Tucker really was. And he had never been either of those things. He wouldn’t start now, he decided, and rolled over, turning his back on Washington, closing his eyes against the ceiling, and laying awake for another hour with painstaking thoughts.

 

**~W~**

 

_Tucker dried his hands_ on the towel and then folded it back over the bar, and left the kitchen, turning off the light. Dish duty _sucked._ Normally, Caboose would’ve volunteered for it, but since Tucker was on light PT while his shoulder recovered, it fell to him. It was half past nine now; he’d left the briefing about his shoulder’s recovery and what it meant for his deployment if there were any complications, and then gotten the order that he was on dish duty. So by the time he actually got everything done, it was after the normal lights-out.

He rubbed his eye as he walked down the cement hallway. Light PT and not a mission since his injury, but they’d had him doing so much around the barracks that he expended most of his energy anyway. He knew it wasn’t the same- the other guys in his squad had it much worse- but he still allowed himself a little self-pity. He was working hard and injured and _tired_ and he was gonna complain about it to himself. Because he had every right to.

He opened a closet door and put back a broom, and then heard a voice down the hall: “Hey! Who is that out of bed?”

Tucker leaned back from the closet, broom put away, and smirked down the hall at Washington. “Hey, Sergeant. Gonna make us do night PT?”

“Oh, it’s you.” Washington strode closer. “Thought it was someone important.”

Tucker laughed, staring into his CO’s bright gray eyes. “No, just me.”

An energy had buzzed between them since that night in the shower-room, five days ago. Tucker couldn’t keep his eyes from falling to Washington’s lips, remembering the frenzied, rough kisses. He tried to shake the thoughts away as he looked back up at Washington.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed, anyway?” Tucker asked, ignoring the part of his mind that wondered about Washington _in bed._

Washington shrugged. “Gotta make sure you delinquents aren’t doing stupid shit like sneaking out of the base or stealing MREs.”

“Does that happen often?” Tucker asked, eyebrows raised.

Washington folded his arms across his chest. “No, but, I guess it could. Another company nearby, their sergeant found one of the privates in the kitchen at two in the morning eating potato sticks and tamales by the package. Poor bastard’s been on one MRE a day since.”

Tucker laughed; he’d heard about that. It was Kaikaina’s brother. “And you think some of our platoon is going to risk Carol- sorry, Captain Carolina’s- wrath for a few potato sticks?”

Washington’s eyebrows rose and he grinned. “Good point. I sure as hell wouldn’t.”

Tucker’s eyes kept straying to Washington’s lips, watching the way he formed words. Remembering hands on his body. _No. Focus on the conversation. That had been one time._

“So is it _really_ that lonely when you top?”

Washington’s eyes widened and Tucker realized what he said.

“At the top. I said at the top. Holy shit.”

Washington cackled. “Oh, my _god,_ Tucker. How tired are you?”

“Not that tired,” Tucker admitted, “Just pretty horny. It’s not good, man. Words just- come out- and-”

He couldn’t keep formulating sentence fragments while Washington’s eyes lingered on his lips and the curve of Washington’s smile was a bit more mischievous than the moment before. Washington glanced at the broom closet and Tucker followed his thought process. _...Bow-chicka-bow-wow? No, Tucker. That can’t be what he’s-_

Washington stepped closer to Tucker, way too close, and if anyone came around the corner of the hall, it was gonna be hard to explain-

Washington leaned down and his breath on Tucker’s ear made him want to flinch away. “How quick can you be?”

Tucker’s mouth went dry. “Quick. If needed.”

“We never talk about it, alright?”

Tucker forced himself to swallow. His body hadn’t felt the touch of another in _months-_ and now he had the opportunity, but… With another dude? With his CO? In a _broom closet?_

“Alright.”

 

**~W~**

 

Tucker woke in the darkness with warm arms clutching him to warm chest, even breathing against his back and legs tangled with his. His heart skipped a beat as he processed this. He was still on his side of the bed, facing away from Washington- which meant _Washington_ had been the one to move over to him. Tucker half-turned, trying to see his face, and Washington’s eyes opened in the dark.

“Wha- oh, fuck, sorry.” He untangled from Tucker and scooted back, clearing his throat. Tucker wanted more than anything to tell him to _get his ass back over there,_ but… Fuck. That had been so nice for all of thirty seconds. Why had he moved!?

But that subtle of a movement shouldn’t have woken Washington. Which meant Washington had already been awake. Which meant Washington had been the one to consciously, willingly, move over to Tucker and hold him. Or- or maybe Tucker was just being naive and romantic again and he had already figured out he was an _idiot._ Fuck, he wasn’t awake enough for this.

“It’s fine,” he said, remembering Washington had spoken words.

“I- I’m a natural cuddler in my sleep.”

_Bullshit. You held me on purpose. Admit it, coward-ass._ Tucker cleared his throat and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “No problem.” He needed a shower. He looked over and saw Washington pretending to sleep. “I’m gonna go shower; if you need anything, just… Knock before you come in.”

Tucker rose from the bed and padded barefoot to the bathroom, another yawn stretching his lips. Frustration started to replace his pining; he had never been the type to pine, and he just wanted to know where Washington stood on all this. Maybe he should just… No, when had _talking about it_ ever helped anything? Talking about it hadn’t brought Church back, and hadn’t made Caboose any easier, and hadn’t given Tucker back his leg. And honestly, actions had always spoken louder than words for him and Washington. For Tucker especially. He was an action man. And an idiot. And now, apparently, a romantic.

He went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, and then closed the door without locking it. He took off his prosthetic and set it down by the door, and then ran his hands over his face again. _Fuck._ That dream… It was like his subconscious was determined to keep reminding him of all the _could’ve-been_ moments he and Washington kept passing up. Well, that Washington kept passing up.

Tucker stripped and maneuvered into the shower. He’d started with baths, but he missed the feeling of running water on his body, so he’d learned to shower with a leg and a half. Plenty of people did it, right? Sure. He wasn’t just being extra and dramatic. Not a bit.

As he showered, he made the decision: he wouldn’t outright tell Washington how he felt, but he’d make it known he was available. Either mentioning a memory by teasing Washington about kissing him, or something like that, or he’d just do their old signal for when they were in that kind of mood. And if Washington reciprocated… Then whatever happened would happen. Or wouldn’t. Whatever. He turned off the hot water and toweled off, put his leg back on, and headed out to grab clothes, before remembering Washington was in his room.

But when he got back out, Washington was gone, leaving behind only a note.


	6. Found

_ Lost, found- you are wherever you are. _

 

_ Tucker- _

_ I know you aren’t big on coffee, but it’s a necessity for me, so I went to get Starbucks. I hope you still like scones. _

_ -Wash _

 

Scones? Had Tucker ever liked scones-

Oh.

Right. 

Jesus, that had been… such a specific moment to reference. There was only one time that they ever talked about scones. It was when Kaikaina was talking about her ex-girlfriend beating the  _ fuck  _ out of her brother (something Dexter had been at fault for), and Grif grabbing the nearest thing, holding it up, and declaring,  _ Protect me, scone! _

Tucker, upon hearing this, had remembered his grandmother making blueberry scones when he was little. Not great, but he liked anything his grandmother made. So he had said,  _ That’s such a waste of a scone. _

Kaikaina had laughed till her belly ached and Washington had said,  _ Cone, Tucker. Cone. Like a traffic cone, or- more likely in Grif’s case- an ice cream cone. _

He’d felt like an idiot, but they’d laughed, and it had been fun. But that had been the only time Tucker ever mentioned a  _ scone-  _ maybe Washington actually did remember as much as Tucker did. But he still didn’t want to get his hopes up. Ah, fuck. Complications. Feelings were so  _ stupid. _

Tucker sat down with the note in hand, and rubbed his face again. He needed to get a grip on himself. He shouldn’t be emotionally fucking moved about a  _ scone.  _ And anyway, the story hadn’t even been about scones, it had been about- ah, what did it matter? Free breakfast. He wondered if Washington would remember how he (didn’t) like his coffee. 

He turned on the TV to pass the time and block out his thoughts, and after twenty minutes there was a knock at the door. When he opened it, Washington stood there with his own coffee, a brown paper bag, and a blue Powerade. Washington smiled.

“You like Powerade, right? We didn’t really have a lot of options overseas, but I thought I remembered you mentioning it.”

Powerade? Eh. “Sure. Thanks.”

Washington passed him the Powerade and the bag and walked through the door, and Tucker closed the door behind him. His brain was saying,  _ Make yourself available! Strip and lounge on the bed!  _ And he decided all logic had abandoned him. He just had to make it through breakfast without doing something stupid. 

Washington sat down on the bed and Tucker sat in the armchair; he didn’t trust himself not to make some stupid joke if he sat on the bed.

“So, when do you head back?”

Tucker had just pulled out the scone when Washington asked, and he looked up. “Oh, uh- six days. The… 10th.”

Washington nodded. “Got any big plans up here?”

“Nah.” Tucker took a bite of scone. “Thought I might stop by the Tulip Festival, it’s supposed to be pretty.”

“Didn’t know that was your thing.”

“It’s not. But… It’s something to do.”

Washington fiddled with a string on his shorts, and then said, “Well, there’s- there’s supposed to be this concert at a bar in Olympia in a few days. Me and Carolina were planning on going, but she bailed on me, so… If you wanted to come, we could…?”

Tucker looked up, a restrained kind of hope flaring in his eyes. “What, just- as friends? You know, bar concerts are, like, typical cliche indie love story dates.”

Washington laughed. “Okay, so I know  _ that’s  _ not your thing. We could do something else.”

“No, no, the concert’s fine.”

He never fumbled for words like this, but the light in Washington’s gray eyes when he agreed helped him get over his nervousness. It was still just Washington- still the same guy who’d thought the stars looked different because they were in the eastern hemisphere. Tucker grinned at the memory and turned to the TV. He had no idea what was on, some vaguely abusive 50’s love story all in black and white. Weird.

“Hey, Wash, remember when I called you a hippie?”

He grinned as Washington sent him an exasperated glance. “How could I forget.”

“You’re not really helping convince me otherwise by going to indie concerts. Who’s the band, anyway?”

“The Killers.”

Tucker looked up. “What? They’re not Indie.”

“Yes, they are!”

“Dude, no, they’re like, alt-rock.”

“The flier said indie.”

“The flier  _ lied  _ to you, and I don’t know why you believed it.”

Washington tossed his hands up. “I don’t know, man, I’m just the guy who buys scones and has a cat for a room-mate. No one taught me music genres.”

Tucker started laughing. “I bet you think Tupac is R&B.”

“Okay, no, I know that one.”

Tucker continued to laugh and stood to change the channel. The  _ vaguely abusive  _ 50’s love story had gotten worse. He flipped through a few times, the news projected a rainy day, some kids channel played Sesame Street, then he found  _ The Karate Kid  _ and settled on it.

“Do you really know Pac? I don’t think you do.”

Washington sighed. “I’m not gonna try, because I’ll be wrong somehow.”

“Smart answer.”

“Smartass.”

Tucker sat back down in his chair and unscrewed the top of his Powerade. “You like me anyways.”

Washington sighed and sipped his coffee. “For some strange reason.”

“You’re the one who asked me on a date.”

They were staring into each other’s eyes, energy buzzing. 

“You’re the one who accepted,” Washington countered.

“You initiated;  _ I _ was just being polite.”

“Like you didn’t want me to.”

“Wait.”

Washington paused, and Tucker grinned.

“Did you just admit to asking me on a date?”

Washington’s tawny cheeks bloomed red. “I didn’t-”

“Oh, you totally did, you  _ sap.  _ Man, now I gotta find my cologne and my good shoes. You said it’s a bar? Who’s paying? We’re both dudes.”

Washington stared at him, and then Tucker saw the pieces click together. “Tucker- do you  _ want  _ it to be a date?”

And there it was, out in the open. Tucker grinned. “I think it’s too late for questions, Wash. You already agreed it was a date.”

“What the  _ fuck  _ did you just rope me into?”

“Some indie love story bullshit.”

 

**~W~**

 

_ “So what’s up with _ you and Sergeant Washington?”

Tucker barely covered his flinch at the question, three years’ practice at military composure saving him. He turned to Kaikaina between wolfing down food. Five months into deployment and rations had been cut short- air transport hadn’t been safe for two weeks, and everyone was down to one MRE a day. Tucker was hungry, had been on patrol the past two nights and barely slept, and not in a good place for questions about things he couldn’t talk about.

He met Kaikaina’s brown eyes with a look of practiced confusion. “What do you mean?”

She elbowed him. “You two are pretty close, huh? Could totally take it to the next level. I saw him give you the last cosmic brownie. He’s kinda hot, isn’t he?”

_ Fuck.  _ Did she know? Tucker would bet money it was that stupid fucking hickey Washington had left on him last week in the shower. Dammit. “Yeah, let me just fuck my CO, that’s a great idea.” Tucker rolled his eyes, spearing prepackaged chicken on his fork. “I’d rather do Carolina, if either of them. Always had a thing for redheads.”

“She’s kinda hot, too,” Kaikaina agreed. “I’m kinda more into blondes, though. When it comes to ladies.”

The way Kaikaina smoothly carried on reassured Tucker she didn’t know. “Blondes are nice, but there’s that redhead temper. Total wild-cards in bed.  _ Bow-chicka-bow-wow.” _

“Huh. Maybe. Hey, don’t you think it’s weird that  _ both  _ our COs are hot?”

Tucker’s fork scraped the bottom of the package, his heart dying a little when he realized he’d finished all his food. He still felt  _ so  _ hungry. “I think it’s weird that we’re allowed to starve like this while other companies’ fatasses get plenty to eat.”

Kaikaina leaned close, conspiratory. “Maybe we should go steal their food. And maybe I could get  _ laid.  _ It’s been so long, since everyone here has those sexual harassment lawsuits to worry about if they do anything.”

Tucker nearly died right there. He hadn’t had a sexual harassment warning in  _ ages-  _ he hadn’t had time to worry about the females in his platoon because he’d been so busy with Washington. Holy shit. He hadn’t checked out anyone’s boobs in ages. Could he really live without boobs? The impulse appeared to ask Kaikaina if he could touch hers, but she had just voiced a very good reason  _ not  _ to follow that impulse. But Tucker was straight- and hadn’t even had a flicker of interest in women in months.

Oh, holy shit.

“We’ll talk about your plan to break into heavily-guarded military installations in hostile territory later. I gotta go shower.”

He stood up to throw away his MRE package, as Kaikaina said, “Have fun being naked and wet!”

“Watch your language before someone accuses you of sexual harassment!” He called back as a joke, and she poked her tongue out at him. He chuckled as he chucked the empty package in the trash.

Out in the hallway, his fears came back to him.

He meandered toward the bathroom, still on the pretense a shower would do him good. The hot water had run out alongside the food, showers weren’t to be longer than five minutes, and nowadays the drains were so fucked he showered in water ankle-deep. He didn’t want to think about it too much, but, hell, it was easier than thinking about one of his squad members noticing Washington giving him that damn brownie.

He found Washington just outside the room they all slept in, and made eye contact. For the sake of catching Washington’s attention for sure, Tucker prolonged eye contact and scratched his shoulder under his shirt, right where the hickey was. Washington turned quickly back to the soldier he was talking to- who was that one? Patel? Palmer? Something like that- and Tucker passed by. He reached the showers with pounding heart. Fuck, if anyone figured out about him and Washington, that was… Well. He could kiss his career and reputation goodbye.

He had time for a quick shower before Washington showed up, and he had just pulled on his shorts when Washington walked in. He saw the wet towel and Tucker pulling on his shirt and grinned. “You didn’t wait for me?”

Tucker had just adjusted his shirt when Washington reached him. He wanted to say something, but fear kept the words down- fuck, they were both  _ dead  _ if anyone guessed-

But Washington’s hands had found Tucker’s sides and pulled him close, and then lips were on Tucker’s. Tucker closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss, relishing it for just a moment; something about these private moments always blurred whatever issues currently pressed into Tucker’s mind. He could forget pain, hunger, exhaustion, just for a few minutes. Dangerously addictive, as Tucker found himself more frequently thinking of reckless ways to snatch a moment with Washington’s all-consuming lips.

But he forced himself to break the divine kiss, and look up at Washington. “Kaikaina… Kind of made a joke earlier about us being a thing.”

His own fear was instantly reflected in Washington’s eyes. The platoon sergeant took a step back, hands dropping to his sides. “What?”

“She saw you give me that cosmic brownie, and I don’t think she really meant anything by it, but she made a joke about us being good friends and how we could take it to the next level. We should- we should probably tone things down. We’ve got seven more months here.”

Washington swallowed hard. “You’re right. Should- should we just…?”

_ End it?  _ The words hung unspoken around them and Tucker’s heart pounded in his chest. Washington had become his only relief in this hell- but things could become so much worse if they were caught… What were the rules on homosexuality in the army? Tucker had kinda glazed over that part of basic training. Fuck. But he was dizzy just  _ thinking  _ the chance of never kissing Washington again was a real possibility.

“No.”

Washington had spoken, and had taken that step back toward Tucker, and there were long fingers on the side of Tucker’s neck and gray eyes bearing into his. “We’ll just tone things down. But… I don’t- I don’t think we should end things entirely.”

Tucker couldn’t help the relief that released his tense shoulders, and he stepped closer, the fabric of their t-shirts touching. Tucker found himself wrapping his arms around Washington, head on his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat thrum against his own. And they hadn’t  _ hugged  _ before now- and as they did, Tucker regretted waiting so long. Sexual satisfaction was one thing; connection through friendship was another; this hug belonged in another realm. Affection, his mind suggested, but maybe… A little bit deeper than just that.

 

**~W~**

 

Tucker couldn’t believe he had a  _ date  _ with Washington. Whether Washington really intended it as that or not.

His phone rang an hour before the concert, and he checked the Caller ID before answering.

“Kai! What’s up?”

“Did you tell Caboose not to go to any more raves with me!?”

Tucker gaped, unintentionally turning to Washington with his expression of disbelief. Washington, petting CT’s little pointed ears, looked up, baffled, as Tucker said, “You got him drunk! The boy’s never been drunk! And people don’t drink alcohol at raves!”

“I was watching over him the whole time! I stayed sober so he could have fun! He had the time of his life!”

“He told me there were topless women!”

“Well, shit,  _ Dad,  _ I didn’t know he was five fucking years old! Let my boy Mike grow up, you buzzkill!”

Tucker recoiled from the term. “Buzzkill!? Really?”

“Yes! You worry too much! Tucker, do you really think I’d get Michael in any kind of trouble? I  _ love  _ him. We all do. Well- oh, shut the fuck  _ up,  _ Dex-  _ most  _ of us do. And he had fun! C’mon, let me take him to one more.”

“No, Kai. I said he could go to them when I get back. So I can come with.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

“So, how’s our dear old platoon sergeant? Get in his pants yet?”

“Uh, no.”

“Tucker! Look, there’s no way you two are  _ straight,  _ not with how you two used to look at each other in the barracks. And straight dudes don’t just cross the country for each other. What, did you roll up into his house like, ‘Hey, dude, just traveled 3000 fucking miles, no homo’? Because that’s fuckin’  _ gay  _ if you did.”

He laughed, raising his hand to his face and closing his eyes. God, this girl. “Will it make you feel better if I tell you we’re going on a date tonight?”

“It’s not a date!” Washington protested in the background. “Don’t tell her that!”

“Fucking finally!” Kaikaina said. “Where to?”

“Okay, get this: Washington asks me out to an indie concert and pretends it’s  _ not  _ a date.”

“Concerts are the  _ best  _ dates! Who’s the band? I love indie music!”

“Okay, so he says the  _ flier  _ for the concert is at fault, which is bullshit but anyway, he thought The Killers were an  _ indie band.” _

“Holy shit. Can we take him to a rave!? He needs to get cultured.”

“I know, right? That’s what I said!”

Washington sighed, speaking up, “Do you have to talk shit in the same room as me?”

“Oh, shut up and pet your cat,” Tucker said.

“Kinky,” Kaikaina added from the phone. “Anyway- I’ll leave you to lover-boys to your date. Have fun- and  _ definitely  _ too much fun.”

“Oh, c’mon, Kai- you know I don’t fuck on the first date.”

She snorted while Washington blushed across the room. Kaikaina asked, “Since when?”

Tucker grinned. “You should see how much he’s blushing right now. Like a tomato with 90’s Justin Timberlake hair.”

“Holy  _ shit,  _ your pop culture references are so  _ old,”  _ Kaikaina said.

“Sorry we can’t all be twenty-two, Kai. I forgot the three years made so much difference.”

“You should be sorry. Old-ass. Sarge is gonna make it to your funeral.”

“Yeah, okay. Didn’t we add your boobs’ age to yours before? Aren’t you, like, sixty-something?”

“You really can’t mentally multiply twenty-two times three?”

“I can, but if I leave it ambiguous, then you could also be sixty-nine.”

She laughed and he could hear her eye-roll while Washington peered at Tucker with a blatant  _ what the fuck is happening in that phone call  _ kind of face.

“You wish I was,” Kaikaina said. A voice in the background, and then Kaikaina added, “Yeah, Dex, me and Tucker sixty-nined in the barracks! Fight me ‘bout it!”

Tucker laughed as he imagined her brother’s face at that. “Okay, well, I’m gonna go before our fictional sexcapades get me shot. Love you, Kai.”

“Love you, too, Tucker!”

He hung up and shook his head. “God, that girl’s fucking crazy.”

Washington looked up at him. “You just said you love her. Is that- a thing?”

Tucker grinned to see jealousy pricking in Washington’s gaze; Washington had almost always been bad at hiding his initial emotions about something.

“No, Wash; we’re just really good friends at this point.”

Relief replaced jealousy, and Tucker’s grin spread.

He was  _ so  _ gonna take that guy on the best date of his fucking life tonight.


	7. Gaps

_ Even when stars fill the gaps- the memories are still there. _

 

Tucker swiped his card, phantom flinch in his bank account in response, and smiled at the barista before walking off to the end of the bar. He had never purchased Starbucks before- what the fuck was up with the sizes? They weren’t even all in the same language. Maybe there was a story behind that somewhere.

“Hey, Wash, what the fuck is up with the sizes?”

Washington looked up from a newspaper he’d been skimming at a round table by the wall. “What do you mean?”

“Tall, grande, venti. What do you think I mean? Don’t you, like, live here?”

“Um, no. And they just mean small, medium, and large.”

“No, they mean tall, big, and twenty.”

Washington stared at Tucker, exasperated gray eyes and a laughing smile. “Well, smartass, if you know it all, why are you asking?”

Tucker plopped down in the chair across from Washington. “To listen to your lovely voice.”

He grinned at Washington, who rolled his eyes. “So you’re really gonna hit on me  _ all night?” _

“Oh, yeah, man. That’s how dates work, didn’t you know?”

Washington sighed and shook his head, looking down. 

“Lavernius,” the barista called, and Tucker got up and grabbed his drink. He’d gone with some kind fruit smoothie, and tried a sip now; decent. A little too sweet. Tucker sat back down across from Washington. They were two of five people in here, the other customers being an old man and a young lesbian couple. That was important, only because it allowed the barista to agree to what happened next.

The second cup, a frothy mixture of whipped cream and espresso and caramel, was set down on the counter. “Bitchface McSugarLips?”

The speed at which Washington glared at Tucker could have beat Usain Bolt if it could be translated to a run speed, and Tucker grinned.

“How did-  _ why?  _ Why, Tucker? Why are you like this?”

“Your coffee’s waiting, Bitchface.”

Washington groaned and stood. “I don’t know if you understand dates, Tucker, but you don’t call the other party a  _ bitchface  _ unless it goes really badly.”

Tucker stood, sipping his smoothie as Washington grabbed his coffee. “You said I could call you whatever I want.  _ And  _ you just admitted- again- that it’s a date.”

As they headed for a door, Washington sighed, resignation curving his shoulders. “It’s not a date.”

Tucker grinned, following him outside. “That’s what you say now, but you keep changing it up. So I’m going with it’s a date.”

 

It took them another half hour to navigate to the bar; it turned out, alongside not knowing squat about the band, Washington also didn’t know where the bar was. He, evidently, had neglected to drink very much over the past sixteen months, and if he did it was at the bar Carolina went to with Free Beer for Vets on Thursdays. He’d heard about the concert from another of his doctor’s clients, who would also be there.

The bar appeared at last and they parked on the block. It was pretty crowded, cars lined down the street under the rain that had started to drizzle down over the city. Nightfall allowed a sheen of golden fog through the rain, and as Tucker followed a step behind Washington toward the bar, he reflected that this was, absolutely, some indie love story bullshit.

A line had already formed in the front room of the bar to a back room that was where the concert would take place. People chattered and bounced on their feet and drank as they waited to go in; Tucker saw more than a few girls way too young to be in a bar. He skimmed the flier for the concert, seeing that the “indie” theme was true- it was an indie bar, according to its label- as far as opening bands, and then The Killers were the special guest. Minors were allowed in, but would be stamped upon arrival. Adults appearing under the age of forty would be carded before they could buy alcohol. Then there was a list of rules on concert etiquette, that pushing anyone over was rude and intolerable, if you knew you were excessively tall you should go to the back, that kind of thing.

Tucker made idle conversation with Washington while they waited, and then Washington had their tickets clipped and they both flashed IDs and headed through the doorway.

A few circular yellow lights illuminated corners of the back-room; a stage sat against the wall they’d just come in through. Beyond the stage was a raised platform, several tables clustered with people and alcohol. The area in front of the stage was packed with shuffling individuals; one of the indie bands was already setting up, a few die-hard fans cheering for them in front of the stage. Across from the stage, a few curving arches led out into the chilly, rainy night, a gazebo-style platform out that way with more tables.

Washington grabbed Tucker’s hand and started to lead him through the crowd, and Tucker ignored the surging happiness that Washington had grabbed his hand. But they were on a date- and Washington had been jealous of Kaikaina- and cuddled him- it all had to mean  _ something,  _ right? Tucker wasn’t just crazy and reading into things? God, he was so bad at this. He’d never been good at relationships, mostly because he was terrible at  _ feelings,  _ and now it actually mattered for the first time in his life and it was gonna kill him. Definitely. Definitely gonna kill him.

He broke from his thoughts as Washington stopped in one of the archways, and Tucker took a moment to register what he was looking at. His eyes were on level with someone’s well-formed chest muscles, and he tilted his head back to see the guy’s face. Bald head, green eyes, friendly smile, bushy black eyebrows.

“Maine! How’s it going?”

Tucker looked over at Washington, kind of thankful that even  _ he  _ was dwarfed by this dude, in disbelief. “Maine? Washington, Carolina, Maine?”

“Running joke,” Washington said. “He’s from Maine, we were all three in basic together.”

“Hang on, you got someone from basic as your platoon leader overseas?”

“She requested me when she looked at her options.”

Tucker nodded, and then looked up at Maine. “Well, hey, I’m Tucker.”

The man with the green eyes signed something at Tucker, hand flashing in a series of movements.

Washington turned to Tucker. “He says-”

But Tucker was already signing back.  _ It’s good to meet you, too. _

Maine’s eyebrows rose slightly in surprise.  _ You know sign language? _

_ Childhood rec center offered lessons, figured it would come in handy. _

He grinned at his own pun and Maine grinned back, and Washington leaned close to Tucker and said, “Selective mute- PTSD thing. Dr. Grey’s been psycho-analyzing the shit out of him. I don’t really understand all of it. He’s a good man, though.”

Tucker nodded and turned back to Maine.  _ You were military? _

He nodded.  _ Eight years. _

Tucker whistled under his breath.  _ Impressive. Were you the Hulk when you went in? _

Maine grinned again.  _ No, just way too tall. _

A band announced itself behind them and Tucker turned around. The concert was starting. He didn’t recognize the band, but they opened with a more popular song, and he recognized it. He turned to the other two.

“Wanna head into the crowd, or are we wallflowers?”

Maine signed back,  _ Wallflowers. _

Tucker rolled his eyes. “Well, that won’t work. Is it a crowd thing or a tall thing?”

_ Both. _

Tucker glanced back at the stage. He’d had this image all night of getting Wash into the thick of the crowd, feeling the music going, and that would be when he could reawaken all the old feelings. But he understood PTSD, and it was clear this Maine guy had seen worse shit than Tucker, and some ancient part of him was still wired to never leave a battle-buddy behind. So he nodded.

“Gotcha.”

The concert got going, people wandering in from the gazebo and the platform with the tables, crowd bouncing and singing lyrics they knew. People shuffling out for beer. Shuffling back in with drinks for them and their friends. Bouncing with the music, some actually dancing, singing along with the songs as they were played. Tucker liked the sound of this band; they played five songs and then it was over. 

The next band came on and Maine stepped out into the gazebo for fresh air, leaving Washington and Tucker to themselves for a moment. Tucker leaned on the wall by Washington.

“He seems a decent fellow,” Tucker said. “Really, really  _ big.” _

Washington half-snorted trying to cover a laugh. “Uh, yeah, that about sums him up.”

“Where’d you learn sign language?”

“Basic,” Washington said.

Tucker’s brow creased s he watched the second band finish setting up their drum-kit. “I must’ve skipped that lesson.”

“Ah, no, it was a friend there who knew it. Connie, her name was. Wonder where she’s at these days.”

“Huh. Was that a  _ thing  _ for you?”

“Connie?” Washington looked honestly incredulous at the suggestion, laughing a little. “She would’ve shanked me if I tried. And believe it or not, we didn’t  _ all  _ hit on every woman we could find.”

Tucker elbowed him. “Oh, shut up.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

Tucker rolled his eyes as the second band announced themselves. Tucker leaned forward and glanced out the archway; Maine was drinking a beer while conversing with a tall woman with lavender-tipped blonde hair. Tucker leaned back and grinned at Washington.

“I think your friend found some company.”

Washington leaned around the corner and saw the exchange happening, and leaned back with eyebrows raised. “Leave it to Maine to find the tallest woman in the bar.”

“And buff,” Tucker said, eyes unintentionally roaming the woman’s body. “Holy shit, she’s got biceps bigger than mine.”

Washington grinned. “Because that’s so hard to achieve.”

Tucker sent a mock glare. “Shut the fuck up, rude-ass.”

“Hey, you’re the one who agreed to a date with me.”

Tucker looked at Washington and saw the surprising warmth in his eyes. No more confusion, then- definitely a date. Tucker couldn’t be more pleased with himself for his jokes coming to fruition.

By the time the second band had finished their set, Maine returned to Tucker and Washington and signed,  _ This is Samantha Dahl. _

“Sam,” she said.

“Ugh.” Tucker looked up in apology when her eyes flashed fire at him. “Sorry- not you. Have an annoying neighbor named Samuel. I call him Sam to piss him off.”

“Ah.” Sam nodded. “Well- do you two mind if I steal your friend here for the evening?”

Washington looked at Maine, who had a pointed look Tucker recognized. Maine was about to get  _ laid. _

“No, go ahead,” Washington said.

Tucker barely held down a  _ bow-chicka-bow-wow  _ as the two tallest people in the bar headed out. Tucker looked over at Washington, half-relieved. “And now it’s just us. Into the crowd, or are you a wallflower?”

Washington took Tucker’s hand and rolled his eyes. “C’mon.”

He led them deeper into the crowd, shuffling through with apologies to anyone they accidentally pushed past. Tucker, again, had a hard time focusing on anything past Washington holding his hand. Poor dude was just touch-starved. Caboose’s constant hugs and Kaikaina lounging across Tucker’s lap on movie night still wasn’t quite the same as Washington holding his hand.

They got pretty close to the stage and stopped shuffling through; a gaggle of teenage girls stood in front of them, all decked in The Killers merch, and Tucker remembered being that age and having a favorite band. They were positioned between a bulky middle-aged dad standing with his kids, and a couple of biker-types on the right, meaning Washington and Tucker had to stand so close they were nearly touching. Tucker longed to wrap his arm around Washington and tug him close, but it wasn’t the time or place, and Tucker didn’t want to scare him off now.

Then the main event started. Washington surprised Tucker by adding his  _ Whoop!  _ to the cheering of the crowd when The Killers came out, and Tucker grinned at Washington’s unexpected enthusiasm. The activity in the room definitely picked up, or maybe it was their proximity to the stage, but it seemed more full of dancing and singing and cheering than ever. The set started, guitars strummed and the vocalist sang and it wasn’t quite like the CDs but Tucker enjoyed it. Washington bounced with the beat and sweat drenched them both by the third song, the combined body heat of a few hundred people in a small room added to the constant motion. Tucker hadn’t been like this at a concert in a while; he and Kaikaina had gone to see a few different shows and gotten drunk and danced, but this time Tucker had barely a buzz and Washington was there. Seeing Washington like this- dancing, vibrant, chorusing out songs he barely knew the words to, in a flannel and jeans and converse, covered in sweat from music rather than desert- Tucker couldn’t help but feel his craving for Washington that much more intense. What a beautiful man- happiness did good things for his face.

Some song was on Tucker barely registered, words jumbled in the background,  _ You sit there in your heartache, waiting on some beautiful boy,  _ and Washington’s gray eyes caught Tucker staring and Tucker could only smile at him. What a beautiful man. Holy shit.

Over the roar of the crowd, the words fled from Tucker, “Can I kiss you?”

Washington stared at him in shock, and Tucker couldn’t regret asking because the chance of it would always be worth something.

Then, as had happened long ago, Washington’s hands found Tucker, and lips found his, and right there in the middle of the crowd Tucker entered his own private world. Sweet relief tasted sweaty and supple and the bass thrummed in their feet and, God, kissing Washington was better than ever tonight. Tucker’s hands found the sides of Washington’s neck and his lips moved over Washington’s. He wanted to press closer, but they were as close as two people could get. And this wasn’t gnashing teeth in a shower-room, this wasn’t desperate tongues in a broom closet- this was long, sweet connections of lips, hands gently grasping touch-starved skin, eyes closed and light smiles and the faint trace of beer on their breath and it was  _ perfect.  _ For an immeasurable time, each time one of them would start to end the kiss, the other would resurge and continue it.

When at last it ended, they stood for a moment, staring at each other, breathless, stupid happy, and Tucker’s heart sang. The first time they had kissed, it had been regret and fear and  _ holy shit what happened.  _ This time- this time it was just happiness. Tucker didn’t give half a shit about the middle-aged dad behind Washington glaring at them, or about the teenage girls ogling the obviously gay men still holding onto each other in the crowd.

All that mattered right then was Washington, and the final kiss that Tucker had desperately craved for so long. 

Then Washington leaned down, close to Tucker’s ear: “Back to my place?”

Tucker wasn’t about to say no.

 

**~W~**

 

The door was barely locked before Tucker launched himself at Washington. Hands tangled in hair still sweaty from the concert, mouths mashed together merciless and needy, bodies pressed to each other in the shuffle down the hall. Into the room now, Tucker’s button-down undone and discarded- lips on Washington’s neck, the taste of salt, and maybe he shouldn’t leave marks-

“Do you care if I leave a mark?” He mumbled, breathy, still pressing kisses to soft skin and collarbones.

“No, go ahead,” Washington gasped. Teeth met skin in response and a soft, shrill sound came from Washington in response, making Tucker grin. It had never been like this before.

Washington took Tucker’s jaw in his hold suddenly and returned him to his lips, backing him steadily toward a large bed with a turquoise bedspread Tucker barely glimpsed as they’d entered the room. Hot and heavy, bodies poised for what was to come, responding in ways Tucker hadn’t felt in- well, far too long. He’d hooked up since discharge, but it just hadn’t brought the same satisfaction. Now his brain barely wrapped around the idea of what was about to happen, and anticipation flooded through his blood.

He turned and thrust Washington onto the bed with his palm, and followed, straddling him. His mouth returned to Washington’s neck, loving the gasps and the way Washington clutched at the bedspread. Tucker’s fingers ran nimble down the front of Washington’s flannel, undoing buttons in rapid succession. Shoes had been kicked off at the door, all that remained was jeans- socks if it mattered- and then-

Tucker stopped.

He gasped and sat back, his eyes going to Washington’s torso.

“What?” Washington’s hand found Tucker’s. “What is it?”

“You…”

Tucker couldn’t find the words. All along Washington’s torso, angry red scars marred the tawny skin that had once been only adorned with freckles. Tucker’s eyes searched for an explanation that wasn’t as bad as what he was coming up with. They looked like- like  _ burn  _ scars. They hugged the lower left half of Washington’s ribcage, left strikes across his abs, coated his whole right shoulder. Tucker reached down and took Washington’s right arm, noticing for the first time that the inside of the forearm flared the long red net-like pattern of burn scars. Tucker’s eyes flitted to Washington’s face, and saw no pain there.

“Wash- what did-  _ when  _ did this happen?”

Washington’s brow twitched. “You don’t remember?”

He searched back through his memories, but Washington had been unscarred all the way up to the day of  _ that  _ mission. Had that been-? But Washington hadn’t been in that intense of care- he would’ve been ICU if his whole torso was burned to bits. Right? Holy  _ shit. _

Tucker climbed off Washington’s lap and sat next to him. “No. I’m sorry, but-”

“It’s possible it’s just a blocked memory,” Washington offered. “There was a lot going on at the time, a lot for your brain to process, especially with… Everything else that happened.”

The vibe that had been, the heated energy, was gone; a cool kind of concern replaced it. Tucker hated himself- just a little- for not knowing this had happened. He could’ve lost Washington.

“There were two grenades that day, Tucker.”

His jaw dropped and his eyes stung. Somewhere, in a repressed memory, Washington shouting,  _ No!  _ Just before two-  _ two-  _ explosions shook the ground. Tucker had been looking at Church, hadn’t noticed a second, had thought that just part of the first- holy  _ shit. _

Tucker’s mind flooded with horror. “Did you-?”

“I pushed Kai out of the way. After she was down, shrapnel hit the nerve in my wrist- that’s why I lost my hand. I didn’t know I was on fire until she was trying to put me out.”

Tucker couldn’t make his voice work. It came out as half a whisper. “Why didn’t I know this, Wash?”

Washington stared at his own damaged arm. “You lost Church, and a leg, that day, and took a pretty intense blow to the head. They said it was a concussion and let you sleep it off while they fixed up your leg. I was all bandaged up by the time we… Went separate ways.”

Tucker remembered that conversation. A few half-cracked jokes, forced smiles, and a quick hug. And then they wished each other well and went their separate ways. Hopping on a plane with just that for goodbye would’ve been painful if they weren’t riding back with a flag-covered coffin. Now, he felt it in full.

“Wash…” Tucker ignored the pricking at his eyes; he was a grown man, dammit, and wasn’t about to cry over this shit. “Why didn’t you  _ tell  _ me?”

And that made it worse, because Washington’s voice was empty when he said his next words. “We were done, I didn’t think it mattered.”

_ Done.  _ Deployment over, time together ended, no more broom closets, no more shower-stalls, no more desperation and need and hiding. The end of the sex, but worse still, the end of the friendship. And now, looking back, had it ever been friendship? It must’ve been, at first, at some point, but Tucker couldn’t really remember a time he hadn’t been attracted to Washington. Even when they hated each other, there was still… Something. And then it was just. Done.

“Tucker, why are you here?”

Tucker almost flinched, barely composing it. He looked into those gray eyes and wanted to whine and vent his frustrations until Washington understood. But there was a mask over the eyes, and Tucker felt again that there wasn’t- wasn’t any real good reason he could say.

“For you.”

That was it, the truth of it, the barest explanation. Washington stared at him for a long moment, and then swallowed heavily and looked away.

“You shouldn’t be. Go- go back to your motel, Tucker. We shouldn’t…”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence. Tucker was stricken, too many emotions whirling, too many sudden realizations, and couldn’t argue right then. He hadn’t even known Washington took that much damage. And no wonder Washington hadn’t been over-eager to seek Tucker out- Tucker hadn’t exactly been concerned about Washington after the explosion. He’d just assumed Washington was okay. 

And, fuck, Washington was straight, anyways.  _ But straight men didn’t make out with other men and take them on dates.  _ Tucker shut down his heart’s protests; it was what it was, and it was over. Washington didn’t want him.

“Okay,” he said, and reality had only offered about five seconds for Tucker to process all of this.

He stood and buttoned on his shirt, walked numb strides down the hall, put on his shoes, and out the door.

He drove through the cold, raining night, back from Tumwater to Olympia, to the motel parking lot. Back out of the motel parking lot. Past green forest that flashed midnight rain. Past the capital building. No idea what was on the radio, loud enough that he couldn’t think, couldn’t hear the agony in his chest, the crushed hopes and dreams turned nightmare.

He found an office building with a parking lot on a block of cement, reaching out into the bay, and parked. He got out of the car and walked to the edge of the parking lot, hands in his pockets as rain drenched his clothes, hair, face. No light out here but one streetlight fifty yards away, hazy through the fog. Crashing sea beyond him.

He turned to the skies and his pain mounted.

_ “Fuck!” _ _ _


	8. Stagnance

_ Stagnance in cacti is survival- but people are not cacti. _

 

_ The hallway in front  _ of the door was now scuffed with the boot-marks from endless pacing. Agitation trembled in Tucker’s clenching fists and restless eyes.  _ They should be back by now. Why aren’t they back yet? Where are they? It didn’t take that long just to run from one company to another- no sound of gunfire-  _ his footsteps paused, checking, but silence continued to plague the desert night. It had been three hours; the trip was only supposed to take fifty minutes, twenty there, ten in the middle, twenty back. 

Then their radios had cut off after half an hour.

And so Tucker paced the hall in front of the door, after curfew, restless and broiling. Caboose sat down the hall, back to the wall, counting to 1,000. Sergeant Washington hadn’t said anything about them being up past curfew; that was their squad out there, too- Church had volunteered to join the platoon’s First Squad and make a quick transport run to the nearest company’s barracks for more MRE’s when the blockade on supplies continued. Tucker knocked his fist against his pants, pretending it didn’t bother him, pretending he wasn’t terrified.  _ Fuck.  _ They had to come back.

The electronic bleeping of a radio came from down the hall and he paused at the static-filled transmission of words he just barely couldn’t hear. Washington wired something back, and then came around the corner and down the hall to Caboose and Tucker. Kaikaina came down the hall from the other end around the same moment, and met Tucker as they turned toward Washington and Caboose, walking down to them.

“No news?” Kaikaina murmured, and Tucker shook his head, mouth set in a grim line.

“Might be about to get some,” Tucker said, chest pounding at the look on Washington’s face.

Sympathy- the last thing Tucker wanted to see.

The three gathered in front of Washington, and the platoon sergeant swallowed heavily. “The news isn’t great.”

“Spit it out,” Tucker said, impatient and afraid.

“Church and First Squad encountered hostiles. There were shots fired and our scouts saw corpses but couldn’t find Church.”

Blood rushed into Tucker’s ears, blocking out anything else, and he whirled toward the door. He had to go- had to find them- Caboose was out- Kaikaina and Washington had his arms.

“Let go!” Tucker yelped. “I have to go out there after them!”

“You’ll just get yourself killed!” Washington protested. He snagged Tucker’s other arm from Kaikaina, putting Tucker in a tight hold. “Kaikaina- after Caboose!”

The younger woman burst out the door, sprinting into the night after Caboose, and Tucker struggled to get free.

“Let me  _ go!  _ I have to go after them!”

Now Caboose and Kaikaina were out- fuck, anything could happen to them! There were hostiles in the area- corpses- Church could already be  _ dead-  _ Kai and Caboose soon to follow-  _ no- _

“Tucker! Tucker, stop thrashing, you’ll just get yourself killed out there!  _ Tucker!” _

Washington grabbed Tucker with one arm around the middle and one crossing Tucker’s chest, pressing Tucker close against Washington. Tucker heaved for breath, staring out the door.  _ No. Fuck. No. _ Tucker panted, frozen in Washington’s hold, and felt the world crashing around him. Not his whole squad- he couldn’t lose them all-

“Look,” Washington murmured, soft against Tucker’s ear. “There’s Kaikaina coming back with Caboose now.”

Tucker stayed there against Washington, utterly distressed, still feeling the need to  _ do  _ something and now feeling the hopelessness of it all. Kaikaina came back with Caboose, talking him down and guiding him with an arm around his middle. He had dirt on his knees and cheek; evidently, Kaikaina had to tackle him to catch him.

Kaikaina and Caboose disappeared.

Washington’s hand on Tucker’s shoulder started to massage it, gentle, and tender lips touched Tucker’s jaw.

Tucker jolted away, breaking out of Washington’s hold with jabbing elbow. “Fuck off.”

Washington’s lips parted at Tucker’s aggressive reaction, and the two met eyes for a long moment, Tucker unable to repress his anger. Washington had just stopped him from potentially saving his best friend’s life- that wasn’t something he could forgive. And he definitely didn’t need another man hugging and kissing him. Meeting needs, that was all that was for- he didn’t need that kind of… Ugh.

Tucker walked off, bristling, into the barracks, and found an isolated alcove with a single rusty metal folding chair. He sat down in it and put his head in his hands, closing his eyes, his grandmother’s wisdom ringing in his ears.

_ Anger is only a reaction to fear and hurt. _

And he knew that. And his reaction just now… Was all his fears mixing together. The fear of losing Church. The fear of not being able to do anything to  _ save  _ Church. The fear of being helpless. The fear of relying on  _ anyone  _ or getting that close that someone felt comfortable kissing him to soothe his worries. The fear of getting caught with Washington.

And for a moment, there in the hallway, he broke down, all his fears spilling out of his eyes and shaking his shoulders and offering no mercy to steel-walled heart. He wasn’t angry, not at all.

Tucker was fucking  _ terrified. _

 

**~W~**

 

Back in Tampa, on a computer desk that gathered more dust each day Tucker was away, there was a small gold-framed picture propped against the coffee mug full of pens. It showed a bronze-skinned girl with big brown curls and big brown eyes; a towering, broad-shouldered guy with puppy-dog eyes even in adulthood; a smaller but well-muscled dark-skinned man with a mischievous grin and bright blue eyes; and a pale, tired, agitated guy with black hair who had been forcibly snatched into the picture at the last second.

Waking up to a gray, rainy dawn in an office building parking lot, in an unfamiliar rental car, Tucker thought about that picture. He thought about the hot sand behind it and he thought about Washington taking it. And he thought about how often he’d tried to get a picture with Washington, who had always refused. And he felt last night surge and fall like the crashing sea beyond his car, reminding him why he was here, and why he had to leave.

Someone knocked on his window, again, and Tucker realized that was what had woken him up. He sent tired, listless eyes to the stranger, a man holding an umbrella up to protect his chestnut suit.

“Sir?” The man called through the rain. “You can’t stay here. They’ll tow your car.”

Tucker, exhausted, sent the guy a thumbs-up and turned on the car. He sat for a minute and let the cold seep through him a little longer, feeling the dampness that still resided in his jeans, and then the heat kicked on and the moment was over. Contentment invited apathy, and, apathetic (or just pathetic), he rode back to the motel. It took a while, since he had no idea how the fuck he’d gotten to the bay, but he made it back there. 

A shower and change of clothes later, he drove back to the airport and brought back the car. He paid for the water damages his escapade last night had left on the seat, and then returned to the terminal and changed out his ticket. He wanted to leave today- he was done with Washington, the state, the man, all of it. He was done with their stupid coffee and indie bands and gray ocean that wasn’t quite like the Gulf. He wanted his apartment back, and… Well, after last night, he could stomach his empty bed. He didn’t know what he was going to do now. But he couldn’t stay here.

He sat in the airport the next five hours; it took that long to get a flight out to Tampa. He had some long layovers ahead, but Detroit was one of them, and he had some old memories to visit there. 

So he spent the afternoon in sighs and regret, and wished he had just stayed wondering about what could’ve been, instead of chasing what now would never be. When the time came to leave, he boarded the plane, let his head fall back against the seat, and shut out the world. He was done. With people, with Washington, with everything.

He just wanted to go home.

 

**~W~**

 

_ It was well after  _ midnight and Tucker’s eyes were swollen and puffy from his breakdown. The collapse of his courage only dehydrated him, and rations were so short supply right then that he would have to endure the dizziness. He climbed out of his bunk and strode into the hall, where Washington stood waiting.

“Figured you’d be up,” Washington said. “Let’s go for a walk.”

They started down the hall while Tucker continuously fought to suppress his constant nagging fears. And why did Washington want to walk with him? Tucker had been a dick to the guy earlier, told him to fuck off when he was just trying to comfort him. Maybe Washington had been misled in his intentions, but he’d been trying to help Tucker feel better.

Tucker swallowed his remorse as they reached the bottom floor. Washington sighed, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed. “I… I’m sorry about earlier. If that was weird for you.”

“No,” Tucker said instantly, and then bit the inside of his lip. “Okay, it was pretty fucking weird. But I was mostly just pissed. I’m- not good at feeling helpless.”

“That’s pretty hard to cope with,” Washington agreed. “But I didn’t want you to get any idea that I was… You know, trying anything. I just couldn’t think of a way to calm you down.”

Tucker couldn’t tell of Washington meant  _ trying anything  _ in a sexual way, or an emotional one, and decided it didn’t matter that much. “Yeah, dude, no problem.”

Tucker’s voice was hoarse with the night’s lengthy emotions. Washington’s eyes lingered on Tucker’s hand, and Tucker- almost wanted him to take it. Almost. Washington cleared his throat, turned his eyes away. The silence prickled between them, neither of them quite sure what to say-

And then static came over the radio.

In between, words: “Sergeant Washington, this is Carolina, over.”

Washington glanced at Tucker and then mashed a button his radio. “Carolina, this is Wash, over.”

“We have visuals on Private Grif and Private Church; extraction is imminent and hostiles are disposed. Mission successful. Over.”

Tucker’s knees weakened in the wave of relief that crashed over him. Washington’s relieved smile, exhausted, stretched his lips. “Roger that, Carolina.”

“Prepare for our arrival at 0100. Over.”

“Roger that!”

The channel closed and Washington turned to Tucker. Exhaustion and fear and frustration all evaporated for a brief moment as Tucker grabbed hold of Washington and kissed him with all the night’s agony. Everything faded, everything but sweet relief and Washington’s touch.


	9. Sunlight

 

_ Meet me where the sunlight touches sand and we’ll dance till we fall apart. _

 

It was three days after Tucker got back to Tampa.

He’d been searching for a job, something to fill his idle time besides hanging out with the usual assholes. Caboose was worried about him, Kaikaina too, and Tucker’s refusal to talk about it didn’t help ease that. He just kept insisting he was fine. He even made up a hook-up story to satisfy Kaikaina that he wasn’t ‘heartbroken’ like she claimed; that Samantha woman appeared in the story and Tucker repressed thoughts of Maine and the Killers and the concert and-

It was three days after he got back, three apathetic days, when he got the phone call.

He didn’t recognize the number. Area code was 360, and he didn’t recognize that either. But maybe it was one of his potential employers, and they were just weird. He answered despite his misgivings.

“Tucker? This you?”

“Uh, yeah? Who’s this?”

“Carolina.”

_ Oh. _

She continued. “Are you home right now?”

“Um- yes?”

“Good.”

She hung up, and he was left staring at his phone for a moment in confusion.  _ What the hell?  _ He tried calling back, but she didn’t answer. How’d she even get his-

Tucker turned around from the computer desk; his resumé could wait. “Hey, Caboose? Did you get any phone-calls today?”

Caboose, making a crayon drawing of a puppy, replied, “No.”

“Yesterday?”

“No. Oh- oh, wait, yeah. Um, do you remember our really nice platoon leader? Her name was Carolina? You said you dig the fire-redhead thing and she threatened you with sexual harassment and made you do push-ups?”

Tucker almost laughed at the memory.

_ Fuck.  _ He did say that. He waved his hands. “Well, I revoke that. Don’t do it anymore, okay?”

Caboose nodded, going back to his drawing. “Okay. Was that all you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Uh… Sure.”

He turned back to his work, wondering what she’d needed his address for. Or why she asked if he was home. He fiddled with the resumé a few more minutes, mind now plagued with thoughts.

But then someone knocked on the door.

Of course the scenario had entered his mind as a possibility, but there was- no way- probably just pizza or something. Grif or Simmons or the annoying assholes from upstairs.

He ignored the way his heartbeat increased, and headed to the door while Caboose worked on his crayon drawing. Tucker put his eye to the peep-hole.

Nervous with hands in the pockets of his giant hoodie, Washington stood outside on the landing.

_ Fuck. _

Tucker slowly reached for the knob, and nearly jumped out of his skin at Caboose’s, “Who is it?”

Tucker swallowed his nerves and opened the door. Washington jumped at the sudden sound and met Tucker’s eyes.

“Uh, hey,” Tucker managed.

Washington stepped through the doorway and his hand found Tucker’s. There was an intensity flaring in Washington’s expression that caught Tucker completely off-guard.

“I’m sorry,” Washington said. “I never should’ve told you to leave. I was- I don’t know. A fucking idiot. I kept thinking you deserved better than the person that let Church down. And that you deserved better than me. And-”

In one motion, Tucker’s hands landed on Washington’s cheek and back of his neck, pulling him close, and Tucker’s lips landed on Washington’s, eyes closing. Supple smiling lips and Washington wrapping his arms around Tucker, and then Tucker pulled back and smashed Washington to him.

“You fucking  _ asshole.  _ You think you can just come back and apologize and I’ll just fucking accept you?” Tucker demanded, smushed against Washington’s chest.

Washington relented his hold slightly, stammering, “Well- I-”

“Because you’d be absolutely fucking right,” Tucker said, yanking Washington back against him. “We’ll figure out the rest of it later. But what the  _ fuck,  _ dude?” Tucker stepped back from the hug and looked up at Washington, hands on his hips. “That’s why you sent me away? You felt like a piece of shit about Church dying? Shit happens, man. I thought you just didn’t want me.”

“Didn’t want-?  _ Tucker.  _ Holy shit, man. I’ve wanted you since I met you, even though it felt like a mistake then.”

Tucker stared him down. “And now? Is it a mistake? Are you going to run back to Olympia and decide you still aren’t good enough?”

_ “No,”  _ Washington said, firm and unrelenting, taking Tucker’s hand. “I’m with you, however long you’ll accept me.”

A million questions ran through Tucker; how would it work with the distance? They lived across the country from each other. And the  _ cat?  _ Caboose wouldn’t care, but Tucker might, he’d never been a cat person. And they had so much history and wasn’t Washington  _ straight?  _ Wasn’t  _ Tucker?  _ Holy fuck, all of it stopped mattering as soon as Washington smiled at him.

“So will you have me?”

_ Would he? _

“Fuck yeah!”

 

**~W~**

 

Lavernius Tucker had gone by any variation of his name- Lavernius, Tucker, Lavvy, a number of different nicknames- but only one person had ever called him their boyfriend.

Tucker had never agreed to a relationship before, but suddenly it was as easy as breathing to call Washington his boyfriend. They had never used pet-names, but those started to slip out, too. And Tucker had never, ever understood the purpose of sexless or sleepless cuddling- until that day.

February 11th, 2007, was a day that started simple, with plans to work on a resumé and maybe do a bit of job-searching. The second half of the day, however, was consumed entirely in Tucker’s bedroom- and there wasn’t even sex involved. For once, Tucker didn’t even think about it; he just thought about the longing need to hold his boyfriend-  _ his  _ boyfriend- close and press kisses to his blonde hair and forget about the world for a while. He could’ve stayed like that forever; so surreal it felt like a dream, he kept his grip on Washington just to remind him it was real. 

Washington pressed gentle kisses to Tucker’s cheek in a serene, idle moment, while Tucker laid back with his eyes closed and a smile in place. He had never before felt this kind of happiness- pure, uncorrupted bliss, in a quiet dark place with Washington and no fear to bother either of them.

They talked, too. It wasn’t all just affection. They talked about anything and everything, childhood and adolescence and adulthood and how they imagined senility. Pets they’d had, friends they’d made, trouble they’d gotten into. Wash’s mom. Tucker’s parents. Tucker’s grandmother. Wash’s aunt. Tucker’s recent visit to Detroit again, running into his sister and her kid, and his old friend from the rec center, Junior, who had grown so much. They talked about civilian life and how different everything was. And their words filled the empty spaces of the room, gave life to the shadows, sweet forever wrapping around them and shining light on all the fears.

They didn’t talk about what would come tomorrow. Tomorrow brought questions, considerations, decisions. They lived all the way across the country from each other, both had lives in their respective cities. Tomorrow would address that. Tomorrow would ask how they’d tell Tucker’s friends, how they’d make this work. All Tucker had was tonight, and the promise of Washington that they’d have each other as long as they still wanted each other. Tucker hoped with all his heart that would be for the rest of their lives. He couldn’t imagine anything better than this.

A phone rang elsewhere in the house, and Tucker recognized the ringtone; Kaikaina had set “SexyBack” as the ringtone for her. This was the fourth time he’d heard it go off, and he sighed; he had to leave the room. Washington looked up with sleepy eyes; they’d been quiet for a while, just holding each other while Tucker ran an idle hand over Washington’s arm.

“Is that important?” Washington asked.

“It’s Kai,” Tucker explained. “I’ll be right back.”

He kissed Washington’s head and rolled out of bed, and then headed into the living room in his shorts. Caboose was out of sight, but had left a note by the door saying he went to the cornerstore. The ringtone stopped by the time Tucker reached his phone, and he called back. She answered on the third ring.

“Hey-hey,” she said.

“Hey.”

“You busy?”

Tucker glanced at the door to his room. “Yeah, kinda.”

“I was thinking we should hook up tonight.”

Tucker’s eyebrows shot up.  _ “What?” _

“Yeah, why not? We both have needs. Unless you have something else going for you, someone I don’t know about.”

Tucker rolled his eyes, understanding. “Caboose told you, didn’t he?”

“Oh, my God, you hooked up with Caboose!?”

“Kai.”

“I was gonna hook up with Caboose!”

_ “Kai!” _

Tucker laughed as she said, “No, for real, when were you going to  _ tell us  _ that Washington showed up and made out with your face!?”

Tucker squeezed his eyes shut, sighing. “How much did Caboose tell you?”

He could hear her smirk. “That you haven’t left your room all day. So, we’re having game night, get your ass over here and bring your hot lay with you. I can’t  _ believe  _ he showed up and just made out with you! You have  _ got  _ to give me the details someday!”

Tucker laughed. “I will. Alright, let me go ask what he feels up to. But Kai, he might be tired from the plane ride- he might not want to.”

“Try, Tucker. Use all your powers of persuasion. Wear the booty shorts if you have to.”

“I should’ve never told you about those. Don’t you have them, anyway?”

“Oh, good point! Tell him  _ I’ll  _ wear booty shorts!” Grif, in the background, shouted something, and Kaikaina replied to him, “I’m a slut  _ for  _ booty shorts, Dex! We’re gonna start a club! Me, Donut, and Tucker! We’ll only wear booty shorts and we’ll all be  _ sluts!” _

Tucker laughed again, part of why he loved talking to Kai- she kept him smiling. “Okay, I’m gonna go ask Wash how he feels about it. If you don’t hear back from me, then we’re not coming.”

“Because you’ll be  _ co- _ ”

“Bye, Kai!”

He hung up, shaking his head. Wash showed up in the doorway to the room, shadows under his eyes but a happy smile on his face. He was only wearing shorts, and Tucker, for a moment, wanted to jump him right there. It  _ had  _ been a while, after all.

“What is it?” Washington asked, leaning on the doorway. What a weirdly sexy pose. Tucker’s eyes flitted over Washington’s body and he forced them back to his face.

“Game night at the Grifs’. They invited us to come over if we want. Probably pizza involved; Caboose is there, too.”

“Oh.”

Washington had some  _ nice  _ thighs-

“Well, that could be fun,” Washington said. “Do you want to?”

Tucker took a few steps closer. “If you’re up for it. But we probably have time for something else, too, while Caboose is out…”

“Yeah, I meant to ask about him living here, is that-”

_ “Wash.” _

Tucker had reached him and sent his boyfriend his most suggestive look.

_ “Oh.”  _ Interest sparked in Washington’s eyes. “Well, we could do that, too. And  _ then  _ go to game night.”

Tucker planted a hand on Washington’s chest, pushing him back into the bedroom. “Sure, but I’m not rushing this.”

 

**~W~**

 

_ Tucker lay awake for  _ a long time that night.

Six months into his deployment, and there was a lot that had changed. He wasn’t the same kid that enlisted, or even the same kid that flew out over the Atlantic and into a country where everyone wanted to  _ kill  _ him while he was supposed to be fighting terrorists and trying to save civilians. Many fundamental differences had shifted from the naive kid he had been when he got on the plane; boots on the ground out here, he’d still been thinking Carolina was hot.

Now… Everything seemed different.

He had new friends; he had known Church back stateside, they spent two years under Captain Flowers back at Fort Benning. But Kaikaina was new, and Caboose. And- Washington. He had a new grit in his jaw, fire in his eyes, brightened by the desert sun’s hard shine. Tucker had dreams once, of what would happen once he got veteran status and finished his contract.

Somewhere in the barracks, someone rolled over and mumbled in their sleep. Their voice rose in a whine and then faded to a mutter, and then a snore cut through. Tucker lay silent until the room grew still again. Then the thoughts came heaving back.

He’d almost lost a friend tonight. Church came back, miraculously- but he didn’t like the chance that Church wouldn’t have come back. It… Wasn’t something he’d think about too long.

Beyond the pain and fear of almost losing Church, his interactions with Washington lingered, haunting the back of his mind. He didn’t want to think about that, either, but it was easier than thinking of his potential loss.

The reason he’d shrugged Washington off him- the real reason, if he was totally honest with himself- was because that kiss had been more than friendship, more than sex, and Tucker didn’t know how to deal with that. He didn’t know how to deal with the idea of- of  _ feelings.  _ For Washington as an individual, for another man in general, during the midst of wartime. Washington was- was different from any other man Tucker had ever known, but what did that mean? The idea of a  _ relationship  _ was absolutely ridiculous. The idea of- of  _ feeling  _ something was just stupid. 

But there had been a moment, a brief moment, when Tucker had stared into the open doorway and seen the cloak of loss and death sweep over the desert, and had been held by Washington and forgotten to ache about it. There had been a moment, after he’d told Washington to fuck off, when they’d met eyes, and Tucker had wanted… To apologize for being crude, to confess his fears and grab him. And then that last moment- when he found out Church was alive, and he grabbed Washington and kissed away all the fear and frustration- Tucker didn’t know what to do about that.

So maybe trying to figure out how to feel about Washington wasn’t easier than the tumultuous almost-grief of Church’s almost-death.

God, Tucker was ready to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys warning: the next chapter will be the end of Tucker's deployment flashback, AKA Church's death. The actual scene of the death is pretty simple & there's no big descriptions of blood & gore, but this is the warning! All of Chapter 10 is flashback scenes. I'll include a summary of what happens at the beginning of chapter 11 for those who might struggle with reading a death scene.


	10. Dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One final warning: This is the death scene chapter! Brief combat scene & then use of an ableist slur toward the end, TWs for major character death, slur use, and loss of a limb.

_ And like a flower came the wilt, till all that remained was dust. _

 

_ “Transport run in the  _ morning,” Captain Carolina called into the barracks. Tucker suppressed a groan. “First and second squad. Big supply load waiting in Baghdad; we’ll have to use our own transport vehicles, but it should tide us over for the next four months. Yes, Caboose, there will be cookies.”

She offered a rare smile to Caboose, and then called, “Platoon! At ease. Lights out in ten.”

Everyone relaxed from attention, and Tucker sat down on his bunk in relief. “Thank  _ fuck.  _ I thought I was gonna wither away out here.”

“Your poor glorious calves,” Kaikaina said, grinning at him. “What about my boobs!? I’ve gone down a whole cup size!”

“Boohoo, double-D to D, you still outsmoke every woman in the platoon!” Tucker noticed Jensen from fourth squad watching and flashed her a smile. “Sorry, Jensen.”

“Oh, it’s okay!” She said, going red and shuffling to her squad’s bunks. Tucker glanced around.

“Hey, where’s Church?”

“He’s in the bathroom,” Caboose said. “He’s been in there all night.” Caboose leaned close. “He ate the last Mexican Chicken Stew MRE.”

“Ooh, rough night,” Tucker said. “He’s gonna be in there a while; that thing expired like three months ago.”

“Why was it still in the kitchen!?”

All three privates snapped to attention at the sudden appearance of their platoon sergeant. In his elation about tomorrow’s supply run, Tucker barely concealed a smirk toward Washington;  _ composure, composure, composure. _ It was the kind of night- now, with this news- that Tucker wanted to end up in a broom closet. Just for five minutes. Ten minutes. Not more than thirty.

Washington sent him a tired gray glance, and then turned to Kaikaina and Caboose and back to Tucker. “Well?”

“Do you want the honest answer or the tactful answer, sergeant?” Tucker asked, unable to hold down the smirk now.

Washington seemed to also fight down a grin. “Honest answer.”

“We placed a bet,” Caboose said.

“My brother’s favorite MRE is the Mexican Chicken Stew,” Kaikaina added.

“So we left it in the kitchen,” Tucker continued. “And told the whole platoon not to eat it, and then told her brother it was there, and placed bets on whether or not he’d try to sneak over here to eat it.”

Washington’s jaw clenched against the laughter in his eyes as his head tilted back. He appeared to have a hard time composing himself, and looked back down at the three. He cleared his throat, and in a strained voice said, “Privates… Fall out and get ready for bed, you ridiculous  _ assholes.” _

“Verbal abuse!” Kaikaina declared after falling out. “You can’t call your subordinates assholes!”

“Hey, asshole,” Tucker said, chucking a pillow at her, “Shut up.”

Kaikaina threw it back, and Washington intercepted, catching it mid-air. “We are  _ not  _ having a pillow fight in these barracks.” Washington glanced at the door and lowered his voice. “I don’t give a shit, but I’m not listening to the Captain’s wrath if she catches you.”

Tucker snorted, taking his pillow back from Washington. “Gotcha.”

“Five till lights out,” Washington said, glancing at the analog clock on the wall. “Get ready for bed.”

Tucker tossed his pillow on the bed, and then made eye contact with Washington and scratched his shoulder, just where a mark used to be. Washington’s eyes flashed and he headed out after a subtle nod. Kaikaina collapsed onto her bed and Caboose plopped down next to- well, halfway on top of- her.

“Ca _ boose!”  _ She groaned. “You’re too heavy for this! Get off!”

She pushed out with a hand and he rolled onto the floor, and Kaikaina sat up with a gasp. “I’m sorry!”

Caboose jumped back up. “It’s fine! I just forgot which bed was mine. I was very distracted thinking about the cookies. Uh- Tucker? Help me.”

“That bed, Caboose.”

Caboose shuffled over to Tucker and Tucker pointed again. “No, no,  _ that  _ one.”

“I know,” Caboose whispered. “But I accidentally touched Kaikaina’s lady parts.”

Tucker’s eyebrows shot up. “You did what! You were only there for like three fucking seconds!”

“She has really big chests!”

_ “Breasts.” _

A throat cleared at the door and Tucker turned to see Captain Carolina there. Immediately, the room snapped to attention.  _ Fuck,  _ Tucker thought.  _ Naturally, that’s when she’d show up. _

“Private Tucker,” Carolina said, “Did you have something we needed to file down at the Sexual Harassment office?”

“That’s not a thing-” He cut off.  _ Asshole brain, shut the fuck up for once!  _ “Sorry. No, ma’am.”

She nodded. “Good. Don’t let me ask you that again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She raised her voice, addressing the whole room. “Two minutes till lights out. You should all be in bed or making your last-minute bathroom runs. I’ll be by to check beds at 2100 on the mark; anyone out of bed can join me for night PT. Fall out!”

Everyone broke from attention and shuffled to their beds. Tucker dug himself under his blankets, wondering how he was going to sneak out to see Washington. As everyone got comfortable around the room, murmuring goodnights or last-minute arguments, Tucker realized Church was still out.  _ Weird. He’s gonna be in a lot of trouble if he doesn’t come back soon. _

The din faded, the long hand on the clock edging closer to twelve. Silence coated the room, eyes closing around them; a few people already snored. When Carolina came in and hit the lightswitch, the privates and corporals were all perfectly in line. She paced slowly across the room, hands behind her back; Tucker fake-slept as he passed her and then opened his eyes to watch her progress. She didn’t question Church’s absence- also weird. Tucker had gotten night PT for staying up shitting. It was awful. Maybe that’s where Church was now…? On his way to night PT?

Carolina circled the room three times and then stepped back out through the door once she was satisfied, leaving the door open so the yellow light from the hallway flooded in. Tucker glanced at his squadmates; Kaikaina had her eyes closed, snuggling into a ball under her sheet, fluffy brown hair circling her face like a main. Caboose had no choice but to sleep on his back with his knees pulled up, as he wouldn’t fit on the bed any other way. 

Tucker laid there for five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Thirty. No sign of Church. Even if he had been called out for night PT, they didn’t like to demand too much the night before a mission- even if it was just a supply run. He should be back by now.

Tucker sat up, debating what he was about to do. Church was his battle-buddy, had been for almost three years, and he couldn’t just leave him stranded… But risking the wrath of the Captain was just as bad as Washington had implied. There were few in the platoon who’d yet to get an ass-chewing from Carolina, and they were the lucky ones. Still… Tucker had risked more than an ass-chewing for Church before. And this was weird, these were weird circumstances, and he  _ should  _ investigate them. And he was impulsive anyways and his COs didn’t exactly like him anyway. So- fuck it.

He got up, and heard a quiet whisper from next to him, Kaikaina, “Where are you going?”

“Church isn’t back.”

Kaikaina’s brown eyes flashed open in the dark, glinting from the hallway light. “You’re going to get in trouble, Tuck.”

He shrugged. “I’ve had worse. Go to sleep so you don’t go down with me!”

She sighed and closed her eyes again, snuggling back into her blankets and then readjusting completely. Tucker stepped quietly out of the bunk room, and into the cement hallway. He glanced both ways- no sign of the captain, and no sign of Church. A perverted suggestion entered his mind, but he shut it down. Like Church could ever score with Carolina.

Tucker made his way to the mens’ bathroom and walked in, closing the door behind him. He glanced toward the stalls. “Psst- Church. Man, did you fall in or something?”

No response. No feet when he glanced under the stall doors. What the fuck? Where was Church?

The bathroom door opened and Tucker ducked immediately into the nearest stall. Fuck. He held the door closed with one hand, waiting it out to see who was there. Hopefully, it was just Palomo or something, maybe Caboose.

“Tucker, come out, I know it’s you.”

_ Washington. _ He was either here to tell Tucker to get back in bed and not break curfew, or it was in response to the shoulder-scratch. Tucker pulled open the door, pretending to fiddle with the lock, and saw Washington standing there. Tucker sent his brightest grin.

“Hey, man. What’s up?”

Before his fears could continue, Washington had grabbed him and pressed his lips to his. Tucker melted at the sudden kiss, arms going immediately to circle Washington. Washington backed him into the stall and locked the door. Tucker’s back hit the wall, chest pressed against him, a moan escaping as Washington moved to his neck.

_ Fuck,  _ this had to be the hottest guy on Earth.

 

**~W~**

 

_ Tucker snuck out of  _ the bathroom and glanced around the hall, face still flushed and legs still a little weak from his recent encounter. Empty hall, no one in sight. He forced a deep breath and headed back for the room. Still no sign of Church- he hoped Kaikaina was asleep by now and wouldn’t ask any questions.

Tucker was almost back to the bunk-room when he heard boot-steps down the hall. Nowhere to hide-  _ fuck.  _ He stood frozen, and then heard a door close. That was Carolina’s office.  _ Fuck!  _ Tucker walked as fast as possible toward his room. She had no proof he’d done anything more than get up to piss-

Church came around the corner.

At the same time as Washington exited the bathroom and came through the hall.

It was a very surreal moment, Tucker and Church staring at each other, Church’s eyes flickering to Tucker’s neck where Washington had been kissing five minutes ago, Church seeing Washington, Tucker glancing toward Carolina’s office and back to Church-

Well, this shit wasn’t good.

“Privates!” Washington called. “Why are we still out of bed? Get to your bunks!”

Church and Tucker double-timed back to their beds. Tucker laid down in his in something of a haze, his content satisfaction from the foray with Washington now corrupted by the inescapable feeling that his best friend  _ knew.  _ And that some weird shit had just happened with Church and Carolina.  _ There’s no way they banged. No fuckin’ way. _

They laid there in the dark; the clock ticked on, a quarter to ten when they laid down. Ten till ten. Ten.

Tucker turned to Church in the darkness, made his voice barely audible. “Dude- what the fuck just happened?”

“It’s not what you think,” Church covered quickly. “And what about you? What the fuck happened in that bathroom?”

“Shut the fuck up!” Tucker hissed. “Look, it’s- that’s probably what you think. But you  _ and-?” _

“Dude.” Church cut him off, and then sighed heavily. “It’s really not like that.”

“Did you bow-chicka-bow-wow-?”

“Hell no.” Church shuddered- also weird, Carolina was fucking  _ hot.  _ But Church’s next words cleared up a lot, and confused the hell out of Tucker: “She’s my sister.”

_ “What!?” _

“Keep your voice down!”

Tucker forced himself quiet. “Sorry. What the  _ fuck!?” _

“She figured it out a few months ago, told me that night me and first squad got stuck behind the hostiles,” Church whispered. “And, backtracking here, but what do you  _ mean  _ it’s ‘probably what I think’? Did you and-? Seriously?!”

Tucker swallowed heavily. He’d been caught, though- there wasn’t much he could do now. “Dude, you can’t tell  _ anybody,  _ alright? It’ll be- so much fucking trouble-”

“Okay, dude, no one knows. Not a soul.”

Tucker nodded, but he couldn’t relax yet. “Promise me, Church. No one.”

“I promise.”

 

**~W~**

 

_ Morning came far too  _ early, and Tucker would rather fucking die than leave his bed. He hadn’t been able to sleep for hours, with the weird shit that was his best friend and CO being siblings, and the terrifying fact that someone knew about him and Washington. It kind of made him want to go savor a last moment with Washington- but knowing that now Church would be aware of any absence of Tucker’s… What if someone questioned it and he got worried and spilled the truth? 

Tucker got up and dressed, fell in for PT, robotically finished his pushups and breakfast, and then it was time to go. Mud-water coffee still coated his tongue and the stale water of his canteen wouldn’t wash it down. He fell into formation with his squad; half the platoon stood in front of the barracks while the other half was inside, showering and cleaning up breakfast. There was a weird tension in the air, smoke on the horizon that kept turning out to just be smog. The transport vehicles were ready to go, everyone dressed and arms, and Tucker didn’t understand why he was so nervous about a transport run. He’d been out plenty with the EOD guys, and, trust him, detonation disposal was  _ way  _ more stressful than a supply run.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. He chalked it up to sleep deprivation and his anxieties from the previous night, but that only helped about as long as it took him to get in the humvee. 

They started across the sand; it was two hours to Baghdad. Tucker and Caboose were stationed at the back of the humvee, weapons in hand, eyes on the sand. The sun blaring down brought shock to their irises, but sunglasses were off-limits while there were active hostiles in the area; fractured sunglass lens in one’s eye was traumatic at best, fatal at worst. So they suffered the sun and sweltered in the heat and the humvee rumbled and the desert rolled. Washington played some classic rock through an MP3-player.

They were an hour out from Baghdad by foot, the morning heavy with arid heat, when the humvee broke down.

A canyon rose just ahead, and Washington eyed it apprehensively. After some radioing to Carolina and worried debates, they decided to go over the cliffs- more exposed, but less chance of ambush.

That still didn’t save them.

Tuesday, October 4th, 2005.

10:14 a.m.

Tucker and Church walked side by side. Tucker said, “My feet are killing me, and I’m covered in sweat, but this is one mission I’m definitely going to finish.”

Church grinned. “Just keep thinking about those MREs. Not too much longer now.”

“I just keep thinking about those assholes back at the barracks,” Tucker said. “We’re out here sweating our asses off to get their food, and they’re just doing pushups and cleaning with Captain Carolina.”

Church chuckled. “Ain’t that a bitch?”

Corporal York spotted it first.

_ “Grenade!” _

Tucker bumped Caboose out of the way on impulse as his brain tried to wire what to do.

Before a decision could be reached, a figure jumped ahead-

_ “CHURCH!” _

 

**~W~**

 

“We thank you for your service, Private Tucker. The VA will sort you out once you’re back stateside.”

The colonel patted Tucker’s shoulder in sympathy and walked out of the med-bay.

Tucker stayed where he was, not moving. He couldn’t move much, anyway- he didn’t have his fucking leg. The med-bay smelled like blood, rusty and traumatic, reminding him of things still too vivid in his mind.

October 9th, 2005. 10:26 p.m. 2026, his military mind said, but there was no point in that anymore. His service ended at his knee.

Caboose was fast asleep in the bed next to his. Too long for the medical bed, always too big for whatever surface he was on. Tucker couldn’t help the twinge in his chest when he saw the bruises on Caboose’s back; the doctors suggested Caboose’s natural strength as the reason he wasn’t crippled by the blow to his back. Tucker blamed himself- he’d been the one to push Caboose back, and maybe if Caboose had been standing differently, he wouldn’t have landed on his spine like that. They’d made a pact the first night in med-bay that they’d stay together after this, watch over each other.

Someone had to- Church was gone.

The thought stung in the corners of Tucker’s eyes, glistening horror and grief and pain no doctor could fix. The VA might sort Tucker out financially, but that didn’t fix a fucking thing. Church was gone.  _ Church was gone.  _ For good this time- no miraculous recovery, no coming back, nothing. Tucker’s oldest friend in this hell of a military was fucking dead, scattered pieces melting into the desert. And now Tucker was a fucking cripple and couldn’t do a damn thing about it. He was pissed off at the world, he was shattered to bits by grief, and he was confined to this stupid fucking med-bay because he couldn’t even walk anymore.

And all this because Church, like a suicidal  _ idiot,  _ jumped on a fucking grenade. What did it solve? Fucking nothing. The supply run was a failure, Al Qaeda still reigned supreme over the sand, Tucker was crippled, and Church was dead. That was the result.

If Tucker had just moved  _ faster. _

Tucker was a better fighter than Church, but Church was a better person. Caboose would be happier if it was Church laying here crippled and bitching at nurses, instead of Tucker trying to summon the energy to hit on them. Church had more going for him back home- his girlfriend was going to fall apart. Well, she was tough, but this was a deep blow. Tucker had, what? Some childhood friends? A sister he wrote a paragraph to when he cared? Tucker had fucking  _ nothing.  _ He should’ve been the one on the grenade.

Church should be alive.

The door to the room Tucker and Caboose were in opened, and Washington poked his head in. Tucker almost wanted to laugh; his fucking platoon sergeant coming to check on him for the first time, with that fucking  _ sympathy  _ Tucker hated. He hated it all the more now because there was basis for it.

“Surprised you’re awake,” Washington said quietly, stepping into the room and closing the door. He walked over and pulled up a chair, sitting down. Tucker saw bandages wrapped around Washington’s wrist, but otherwise he looked okay.

“Really think I could sleep?” Tucker asked, voice dripping bitterness.

“No.” Washington sighed, looking up at Tucker. “How you holding up?”

Tucker met the sergeant’s eyes with a dead look. “I’m a fucking cripple and my best friend is dead. How do you  _ think  _ I’m holding up?”

“Sorry, stupid question.”

“Did you have any real reason to come in here or did you just want to remind me of all the shit going on?”

Washington met his eyes evenly. “We’re friends, Tucker. I just wanted to check on you; doctors finally let me in. I’ve been trying for days.”

_ Shit.  _ Tucker felt a pang of guilt for being an ass. But fuck it, he had a lot going on, he didn’t feel like being tactful. He had a hard time with that at his best. He sighed. “It’s a shit situation, Wash, and I just want out of this fucking hospital.”

“You’ll get your wish in a couple days,” Washington said. “October 15th is the official date you’ll ship out. Only one of your squad staying behind is Kaikaina.”

Tucker’s outrage blasted through him.  _ “What!?  _ Why is she staying? She should be coming home with us!”

“She didn’t get hurt, Tucker. They’re switching her to first squad. She’ll be home in four months.”

“No, this is bullshit-”

“Keep it down,” Washington said. “The docs wouldn’t let me in because they knew I’d tell you. They think it’s bad to let you know what’s going on because any added stress could do bad things to your brain right now.”

“What, like my fucking depression over my ruined life isn’t bad enough? Just hit me with the whole fucking truth so I can get over it.”

“I’m trying to.” Washington took a deep breath. “You and Caboose are getting honorable discharge. Medals and ribbons and all that, there’ll be a ceremony. Church will be honored posthumously.”

“Awesome. Just what I always wanted to fucking hear.”

“Kaikaina’s getting awarded, too, but it’ll wait till she’s back stateside. Her contract finishes up two months after she gets back; she’s told me she doesn’t plan on renewing it.”

Tucker watched Washington’s face as the platoon sergeant paused, and asked a question he’d been kind of afraid to voice: “What about you?”

“I’m… Going home. I lost a hand. Can’t hold a weapon, can’t do a pushup, can’t even fucking masturbate.” Washington chuckled. “I’m going back to LaGrande; I’m done with army life.”

Tucker nodded, pain in his chest. He… Wasn’t really sure what he’d do without Washington. They were close, as friends and whatever you called their relationship. But he decided he’d move on, then and there.

“Good luck, man. I guess we’ll be going our separate ways. It was excellent serving with you- couldn’t have asked for a better platoon sergeant.”

Washington gave him half a smile. “Couldn’t have asked for a better smartass private to keep things lively. I-” He cut off, words unsaid, as always with him. He settled on, “I wish you the best. I don’t know if we’ll see each other again; I’m flying back after you.”

“If we ever do, I’ll buy you a drink for your hand and you can buy me a drink for my leg.”

Washington chuckled. “Sounds good.” He stood from his chair, folding his arms, and looked down at Tucker for a moment. But Caboose was there, and doctors or nurses could walk in at any moment, so goodbye was limited.

“Bye, Tucker.”

“Bye, Wash.”

And he walked back out the door.

 

**~W~**

 

_ January 8th, 2006 _

 

_ Tucker, _

 

_ I’m back stateside and staying with my mother while the doctors figure out what to do about my hand. Prosthetics are a lot more complicated than I expected. I got your address from Kaikaina; I hope you don’t mind. She said you could probably use a word from me. Well, that’s not  _ _ exactly _ _ what she said, but we’ll stick with that. _

_ I hear you’re staying in Tampa with Caboose and some other vets nearby. I think that’s a good plan for you- I remember how much you always talked about loving the beach. That sounds kinda… Well. Anyway. I’m making small-talk because I don’t know how to word this. _

_ I think a lot about that mission, and everything that happened. _

_ I think a lot about Church. I know you and Caboose do, too. _

_ I know it’s hard, but it might help to talk to someone about it. There’s some good specialists for military PTSD in Tampa, according to my prosthetic doctor. She’s also got a PhD in psychology, so she keeps up to date with who’s nearby. I get a lot of flashbacks, and if I didn’t have my psychiatrist helping me cope with the memories they’d probably kill me. I don’t know how you’re doing, but I hope you have someone to help you, and that you reach out if you need it. Don’t be too proud to speak up when you’re in need. _

_ There’s a lot more I wanted to add to that goodbye in the med-bay, but it wasn’t the time, and I don’t feel right writing it, either. Just know I wish you all the best in your future endeavors. May women fall into bed with you with ease; another amputee I’ve been talking to had a pretty good pick-up line that works at bars- “Hey miss, wanna thank me for my service?” Apparently, women love the tragedy of amputation, and the courage of a service member, and a good sense of humor. Thought of you when I heard that.  _

_ I hope life treats you well, Tucker. If you ever need a friend, reach out. _

 

_ -SFC (ret) David Washington _


	11. Sunshine

_ Seasons change, tides rise and fall, lives come and go- the sun shines ever on. _

 

“God, I can’t believe you ever thought I was  _ straight.” _

Tucker laughed at his boyfriend. “I’m sorry, but you didn’t exactly have a rainbow tattooed on your fucking forehead.”

“I wanted to finish my military service, my fucking bad.”

“Why won’t you two just get married already?” Kaikaina asked, popping a piece of popcorn in her mouth.

Tucker raised his eyebrows as Washington chuckled and said, “Whoa there, Kai, slow down a bit. It’s only been three months.”

“Three months since you  _ moved  _ here, four months since you two started officially dating, and like three fucking years that you’ve been in lesbians with each other!”

Tucker looked over at Washington and gave his best smoulder. “How ‘bout it, lover? Run down to the courthouse with me? Get that gay marriage that still isn’t legal?”

Washington rolled his eyes and shoved him. “Sure.”

“Spousal abuse! Spousal abuse! Kai, take him down!”

To Tucker’s surprise, Kaikaina launched herself at Washington, her boobs colliding with his face and taking him down. Tucker cackled. “Holy shit!”

“You fucking  _ assholes!”  _ Washington protested as Kaikaina rolled away laughing.

Caboose walked back into the living room from the Grifs’ bathroom. “What did I miss? Why is everyone laughing? Do I have toilet paper stuck to my shoe?”

“Your girlfriend is a fucking badass,” Tucker said, laughing.

That was one thing that had come as a shock over the months- Kaikaina not only settled down, but started dating  _ Caboose.  _ It was an asexual kind of thing, but it was cute. They seemed happy, and it got Caboose out of the house, which neither Tucker nor Washington would complain about.

Better still, Kaikaina and Caboose getting together had deeply unsettled Grif, and one day his snide comments led to a blow-out between him and Kaikaina. That wasn’t the good part.

The good part came when Kaikaina used her rage to spout truth at her brother.

_ You’re just jealous that even Caboose is getting some and you’re still too much a pussy to talk to Simmons about your feelings! _

_ I don’t- what the fuck? I don’t have feelings for Simmons! _

_ Just fucking admit it, you coward! You’d fuck that twink all up and down Main Street if he’d let you! _

(That had been the point where Donut walked in and casually declared,  _ I’m not a twink; I’m too well-muscled!) _

_ Simmons is not a twink! He’s- he’s a fucking nerd, but he’s not gay! _

_ Oh my god, Grif, you oblivious asswipe! You two have been pining over each other since basic! Your first letter to me was about a cute redhead- how long did you think it would take me to figure out the redhead wasn’t a chick? _

_ There was a cute redhead chick! _

_ What was her name? _

_ Ri- Rica? _

_ Richard! Her name was Richard Simmons! You call her Dick to make fun of her and she’s not actually a she! _

_ Shut up! _

_ Admit it! _

Anyway, it had led to Grif and Simmons getting together. Tampa became a hotbed of gay veterans and it was fucking weird. But everyone seemed pretty happy- and Tucker couldn’t complain ever again since Washington moved down from Olympia. Tucker didn’t even care about the cat-hair all over his apartment.

It was absolutely phenomenal how much Washington’s re-entry into Tucker’s life changed.

It was the happiest he’d ever been.

 

**~W~**

 

That evening when they got back home, Tucker backed Washington against the table and held him close, long slow kisses dragging out between them. Tucker leaned into Washington, forcing the taller man to lean back over the table, and Tucker’s hand landed on the table for balance. Mid-kiss, his brow twitched- what was that under his hand? Really soft paper- an envelope?

Tucker leaned back from the kiss and looked down. Oh, Caboose had gotten the mail- and some kind of fancy envelope.

“Did you just stop mid-make-out to check the mail?”

“This envelope feels weird,” Tucker explained, his eyes crossing the calligraphic script on the back.

 

_ To the address of: _

_ Lavernius Tucker _

_ David Washington _

_ 2410 Gulch Drive _

_ Tampa, FL 33612 _

 

_ A cordial invitation extended to you. _

 

“Huh,” Tucker said, opening it.

“Do you have to just rip it open like that? That nice, cream-colored rice-paper style envelope? I bought us a letter opener that looks like a sword just for you-”

“Yo, holy shit!”

Washington cut off his bickering at Tucker’s exclamation. Tucker flashed the invitation to Washington.

“Holy shit!” Tucker repeated as his boyfriend read it.

“You are invited to the wedding ceremony of Charlotte Carolina and Matt Brahm. November 19th, 2007. Grande Terrace on Capital Lake, Olympia, WA. We hope to see you there.” Washington looked up from the invitation. “Holy shit. I have to call her! I can’t believe she’s getting married! You know who Matt Brahm is, right?”

“Not a clue.”

“Remember Maine? Huge dude from the Killers concert?”

_ “Holy shit!  _ For real?”

Washington walked off to call Carolina and Tucker sat at the table, reading the invitation. Something weird was happening in his brain- changing the names in the invitation, the location.  _ The wedding ceremony of Lavernius Tucker and Davi-  _ no! Holy fuck, that was way too soon!

But was it?

Washington paced the room on the phone with Carolina, laughing and getting details and making jokes. Tucker zoned out completely, lost in his mind- maybe Kaikaina’s joke wasn’t too far off the mark. It wasn’t legal yet, but Doc and Donut had the ceremony ages ago, and had explained a piece of paper wasn’t all that made a marriage… 

Holy shit.

Lavernius Tucker was in love.

And more than that, he wanted a lifelong commitment.

_ That’s fucking weird. _

Washington continued to talk to Carolina as Tucker came to this realization. He needed to tell him-  _ fuck,  _ how do you just tell someone that? No, they never  _ told  _ each other things, they just showed it. How did you show-?

His eyes fell on the invitation and his eyebrows jerked up.

He couldn’t really be considering that. That was crazy.

No, that was definitely crazy, but the fact it didn’t scare him to death to think of meant something. He could see a future with Washington- had a hard time picturing the future without him, anyway- and  _ wanted  _ a future like that. And he  _ did  _ love the man; he would just have to show it some other way.

Washington finished the phone call and came over to Tucker with a bright smile. “I guess a maid of honor is too mainstream for Carolina, so she wants me to be her best man. I don’t actually have to do anything wedding-related except show up, so it works for me.” Washington took Tucker’s hand. “Be my plus one?”

_ I love you.  _ Tucker quashed the thought; the realization was making him crazy. You didn’t just answer a yes/no question with  _ I love you.  _ Unless you were being a smartass. But it didn’t seem romantic- and since  _ when  _ did Tucker worry about being romantic? Holy fuck.

“Sure,” Tucker said, realizing he’d hesitated just a little too long. “Sounds good.”

Washington’s brow twitched. “You okay?”

“I’m good.”

Washington pulled out the other chair at the table and sat down. “Look, I know this is probably weird after what Kaikaina said earlier, but don’t put too much thought into it, alright?” Washington kissed Tucker’s hand. “We’re not there yet, and that’s okay. Maine and Carolina have actually known each other a long time- we have, too, but it’s been different. They had history. And we do- anyway.” Washington cleared his throat. “Don’t go thinking I’m expecting some big commitment. I know that takes a while for you.”

_ Does it, Wash? Does it really?  _ It took all Tucker’s self-control- and that was a small,  _ small  _ amount to begin with- not to say anything back to that.

“So, Chinese for dinner?”

“Sure. Sounds good.”

 

**~W~**

 

It took six months, an old friend (acquaintance), and a  _ lot  _ of careful strategy to get everything ready.

Six months of agony- as Tucker had to learn not to spout out the first thought to cross his mind- but he was going to tell his boyfriend he loved him, and this was kind of a first for Tucker, so it was a really big deal. And Tucker was determined to do it right. This was one thing he absolutely  _ could not  _ fuck up. Washington had sacrificed a lot to come with Tucker, and had risked a lot just to snatch moments with Tucker way back when- and Washington deserved the whole fucking world on platter. Instead, he had Tucker. But Tucker was determined, and in love, and that was a combination he’d never before experienced. It was fucking. Powerful.

When the day finally came, Tucker couldn’t shake his nervousness. It took every ounce of practiced suaveness not to give anything away in the two weeks leading up to it, and the day of he was so fucking excited he almost spilled the beans that morning over coffee.  _ Today’s the day, today’s the day, today’s the day, today’s the- _

Washington left to go do laundry, a task that would take about 120 minutes, around noon. It was a Saturday, a beautiful sunny November 10th, nineteen days till Carolina’s wedding. (There was a countdown on the fridge; Caboose had also received an invitation and was very, very excited.) Someone knocked at the door about fifteen minutes after Washington left and Tucker jumped up, all but running over.

He opened the door, expecting his acquaintance, and suppressed a groan. Felix.

“Does the landlord know you have an unnamed tenant staying in your apartment?”

“It’s land _ lady,”  _ Tucker corrected, “And yes, Mrs. Sevnein knows. Bye, Felix.”

He went to close the door, and it closed on Felix’s hand. Tucker rolled his eyes and opened the door.

_ “What?” _

“Is your friend single?”

Tucker slammed the door this time, not caring if it broke Felix’s hand. He rolled his eyes again and retreated further into the apartment. He reached the bathroom now shared by him, Washington, and Caboose, and stood for a minute looking at his reflection. Worrying over every detail. Noticing the subtle wrinkle of his shirt near his hip. Wondering if it was really that weird to get a manicure as a dude, if getting his nails done might help-

Someone knocking on the door saved him. This time, Tucker checked the peep-hole before opening the door. Thank  _ fuck. _

He opened the door. “Sarge! Hey.”

Sarge passed him the box. “Here you go, son. Good luck.”

“Oh, I have the final payment- one second-” Tucker ducked over to the kitchen and pulled the envelope out from beneath the bread-box, and then returned to Sarge and passed it to him. “Thank you,  _ so much,  _ for this. You’re the one person I could think of to do it.”

“No problem; it was kind of a fun project. No one ever trusts me with this kind of thing.”

Tucker laughed. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Good luck with your groove.”

“Thanks, Sarge.”

Sarge started to walk off, and then turned back. “Where’s, uh- while I’m in town- where do Grif and Simmons stay?”

Tucker grinned at the old sergeant’s reluctance to admit wanting to see his old privates; Simmons and Grif had spoke on multiple occasions of their platoon sergeant’s gruff, harsh nature. The fact Sarge was asking was strangely warming. Probably because Tucker was already in a romantic mood, and that made it much harder to be an insensitive asshole.

Or maybe he grinned because an unexpected visit from Sarge would ruin Grif’s day, and that would be the cherry on top of a perfect afternoon.

He gave Sarge their address and said goodbye, and then closed the door, package in hand. He locked the door; Washington had known Tucker would be home, so he’d have to knock to get into the apartment. Tucker reached the coffee table and set down the package, and then pulled out all of  _ his  _ packaging material from under the couch. This part had been Donut’s idea.

Half an hour later, Tucker still didn’t have the right aesthetic- fuck, he needed Donut for this. Tucker was bi; everyone knew gays were naturally talented, lesbians were bold, and bis just kind of never knew what the fuck they were doing. That was Tucker right then. All he knew was that he was doing it for Washington, and turquoise wrapping paper had been  _ fuckin’ stupid,  _ and really? Sparkles? Who did he think he was, RuPaul?

By the time Tucker was seriously considering dressing in drag to see if Washington really loved him (because, you know, logic), he gave up. On wrapping the box, on trying harder than he needed to, on being something he wasn’t. He was Lavernius Tucker, for fuck’s sake- he didn’t fall in love, but now he did, and Washington accepted him for who he was so far. Washington wouldn’t expect a big dramatic thing, and really, wrapping paper was a stupid industry and tradition, because it just got ripped up and thrown away. 

Tucker took the original package and put the gift back in it, and then wrapped it once in the wrapping paper. He debated scrawling a message on the top-  _ To Wash, With Love-  _ something like that, but decided against it. Fuck. All this was so hard. The movies made it look so easy. 

By a quarter to two, Tucker had the mixtape playing, the package wrapped, cologne sprayed on, his good shoes, and it was fucking time. Not- not  _ fucking  _ time. But it was time. For the thing.  _ Oh, fuck, it’s time, oh, my God, I’m gonna fuck this up- I can’t fuck this up- fuck- _

Washington knocked on the door and Tucker completely second-guessed everything.

Turned off the mix-tape.

Threw the package in a closet.

Pocketed his wallet.

“Hey, babe, let’s go out to eat! I’m taking you on a date!”

That’s what he almost did, anyway.

Tucker stared a long moment at the package, debating, debating, wanting to bolt-

He couldn’t be a coward about this. He couldn’t. He had to do it. He took a deep breath, got up, and walked to the door. Let the Killers play through the room. Opened the door. Smiled brightly at Washington.

“I have a surprise for you.”

Tucker took the basket of folded clothes from Washington and set it in the dining room, calling Washington into the room.

“If this is like that time you and Donut planned a rave in our apart-” 

Washington cut off as he saw the package and heard the song, and Tucker grinned as his boyfriend took in the effort Tucker had put into his appearance today.

“Tucker, what’s going on?”

“No questions; just go open the box.”

The Killers’ song was drawing to a close. Tucker needed Washington to get the damn box open before this last chorus. Washington sat on the couch and picked up the package, running his hands over it to look for the crack in the wrapping paper.

“It’s on the top,” Tucker said, impatient and heart pounding. The last chorus was halfway over.  _ Hurry up, hurry up! Fuck! Hurry! _

Washington pulled off the paper right as the Killers ended. He peeled the tape off the box as the opening chords of the next song started in. Tucker buzzed with nervousness, bouncing on the heels of his feet.

_ “Oh yeah, I’ll tell you something,”  _ came from the radio. Washington looked up.

“Is that you singing!?”

“Yes! Look in the damn box!” Tucker exclaimed.

“I didn’t know you could-”

Washington broke off as he finally unfolded the box and gaped.

_ “I think you’ll understand, when I say that something-” _

Tucker smiled bigger than ever as Washington pulled out the custom-designed prosthetic hand.

_ “-I wanna hold your hand.” _

“Tucker, you  _ cheesy fuck!”  _

Washington covered his smile with his mouth and Tucker saw the shine in his boyfriend’s eyes and felt it reflected in his own.

“Did you really!?” Washington asked, standing up. “You-  _ how?  _ And the song?”

Tucker’s own cover of “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” played through the room as Washington came over and hugged him, and then looked at him.

“Seriously, how?”

“I have friends into robotics,” Tucker said, smiling at him. “And… I love you, and wanted to do something to show it.”

Okay, Tucker was seriously about to start crying happiness now, the way Washington looked at him was what he’d always wanted. What he’d dreamed of for  _ so  _ long.

“I love you, too, Tucker. C’mere.”

Washington hugged him again, holding him close, and it was the warmest happiness Tucker had ever experienced.

It just didn’t get better than this.


	12. Voice

_ Not even the sun can stop the crashing pain of reality. _

 

Three months almost passed.

Tucker was going on a year with someone. And he didn’t hate them, not even a bit. Didn’t find them annoying, didn’t have thoughts of running away into the night and never coming back, none of the usual stuff that happened before when he’d tried to be serious about someone. If soul-mates were real, Tucker had found his- as lame and gay and cheesy as that was. Definitely something he’d never admit.

The rooftop of Washington’s favorite restaurant was decorated as never before. Candles along every flat surface, flames flicking in the Tampa wind, adding a vanilla tint to the salty air this close to the beach. A round table sat centerpiece with a white tablecloth, adorned with roses and wine. Tucker had seen something like this in a movie and decided it was the only way- he’d figured out Washington had an unspoken soft spot for romances, and this seemed like just the kind of cheesy shit that would make him happy. Tucker paced the roof in a suit, waiting for Wash’s eventual arrival. He’d gotten off work a quarter of an hour ago, and it was a twenty minute drive back to the apartments to change, and then ten minutes to the rooftop.

A waiter walked up to the roof. “Appetizers?”

“Not yet,” Tucker said. “When he gets here. I don’t want to do any of this without him.”

The waiter nodded and headed back downstairs.

February 4th, 2008. A day to mark in history.

Tucker sat down at the table, forcing himself to breathe. It wasn’t that big a deal- the love confession had gone extremely well, and this would, too. He took a deep breath, exhaling hard enough that he accidentally extinguished a candle. He grabbed the lighter and re-lit it, listening to the classical music playing from the restaurant below. Traffic breezed by and life went on around him, a regular Monday for most people, a life-changing evening for Tucker.

And yet not for the reasons he expected.

Twenty minutes since Washington got off work.

Twenty-five minutes.

Tucker’s pocket vibrated and he pulled out his phone. He’d asked for no interruptions- but he didn’t recognize the number. It called back again, and then he got a call from Washington’s number. His brow creased. Worry pricked and he forced it down.

He answered the phone. “Wash? Where you at? It’s-”

“This is Locus.”

Tucker froze. “Why do you have his phone?”

“I… Don’t know how to tell you this. There’s been an accident.”

The color dropped from the world.

“Wh- what happened? Locus, what the fuck happened? Why are you there-?”

“He’s on his way to the hospital. He asked me to call you. Well- he tried to.”

_ “What!?”  _ Tucker stood from the table. “What hospital?”

The world swam and he sat back down. Locus went on. “There’s supposed to be one a few blocks away, Flowers, I think is the name.”

Tucker tried to breathe. “What happened? Is he okay?”

“They’re going to have to perform surgery… His car collided with another, a shard of glass hit his throat. They’re doing everything they can.”

Tucker hung up the phone. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t happen.  _ No.  _ Not tonight.

He stood and numbly made his way downstairs, back through the restaurant, barely registering the words that came out of his mouth as he told the manager plans had been canceled. The manager had sympathy in his eyes, sympathy that made Tucker want to punch him, sympathy for all the wrong reasons. This wasn’t just a canceled date. This was so much worse. Tucker wished Wash  _ had  _ canceled- had stayed late at work-  _ anything but this- _

The weight of the ring in his pocket seemed to drag him down as he got in his car.

 

**~W~**

 

Tucker had never liked hospitals.

The first time he went to a hospital, it was when his grandmother’s dementia had gotten too far for her to continue living on her own. She’d caught her house on fire after forgetting she was cooking, and had been weak from smoke when the firefighters got her out. Tucker had sat anxiously in the waiting room with his sister while his mother made all the decisions; he’d tried to focus on his Batman toy, but it didn’t distract him.

He was no fonder of this hospital.

The walls were white. The floor was white. Tile, flecked with color, but basically white. The nurse uniforms were tacky, too-colorful scrubs. White teeth flashed in their smiles. Tucker wanted gray. He wanted to not have to think about any of this.

He’d lost Church.

He’d dealt with that.

He couldn’t lose Wash.

He paced the halls. He eyed the door to the roof, wondering what he’d do if Washington’s surgery went wrong. He paced the halls some more. Friends showed up, feeling like strangers now; they meant well but he couldn’t stand their concern. It all felt so self-centered, or too sympathetic- everyone was  _ poor me  _ or  _ poor Tucker  _ and he didn’t want any of it.

He wanted Washington.

He wanted this evening to go how he planned.

He spotted an alcove with a metal folding chair and his mind flashed back to the night he’d thought Church was dead, the breakdown, the fear, the snapping at Washington. He sat down in the chair and just sat back, sighing, head against the wall. And fuck, he hated being helpless.

A nurse walking by stopped to check on him. “Are you okay, sir?”

“No.”

“Can I get you anything?”

She meant well, and he could see it, and didn’t present him with any unwanted sympathy. Just a woman doing her job, and making sure there wasn’t someone falling apart in a corner alone. Good woman.

“Coffee?” Tucker asked. “I can give you some cash-”

“Don’t worry about it,” she leaned close. “We’ve got good coffee in the break room. I’ll grab you some. Cream or sugar?”

Normally, he preferred his coffee black. But right then he wanted something to remind him, something sweet, something too saccharine to reflect his current bitterness.

“Sugar. Lots of sugar. Two packets of cream.”

“Right away, sir.”

She walked off down the hall while Tucker’s chest heaved with pain. He’d never been through this kind of thing- he’d never cared about someone, romantically, enough to lose them like this. His grandmother died in her sleep. His mom… He didn’t think about it too much, but she drank herself to death, and he wasn’t even in the state to watch it happen. Church had died so suddenly, and Tucker had blacked out afterward. He’d never had to sit and wait, wondering if death crept over his loved one even then or if he’d wake up tomorrow with hope still in his life.

And it was so  _ shitty  _ how life just kept going.

If Washington died now, Tucker would still be wanted at work in a few days. The cat would still need to be fed. Caboose would need him more than ever- and Tucker wouldn’t be able to help him. And there was no way in hell Tucker would be able to stand Grif or Simmons, or Doc or Donut, or any of them. He just couldn’t.

Then the one person he could probably actually tolerate right then reappeared.

“Heard you wanted some coffee.”

Kaikaina handed him the coffee and set down her own metal folding chair, sitting down across from him in the alcove. She clasped her hands over her knees. “You’re falling apart over there, aren’t you?”

He cocked an eyebrow and took a sip of the too-sweet, too-hot coffee, finding some kind of peace when it burned his tongue. “Is it that obvious?”

“Way too obvious. But that’s okay.”

Silence lapsed between them as Tucker drank half the cup of coffee; it scorched his throat in all the ways that made him feel alive, and it was so fucking sweet he hated it. Kind of like Washington. If Washington hadn’t been so damn  _ good,  _ Tucker wouldn’t have this predicament. He almost blamed himself- he  _ did  _ blame himself- if he hadn’t asked Washington to move down here…

“Stop looking guilty.”

Tucker looked up at Kaikaina.

“Yeah, I see it in your face,” she said. “You asked him on a date. You asked him to move down here. So fucking what. That doesn’t make it your fault, Tucker.”

“How did you-?”

“I know you. I know how you blame yourself when anything grows wrong.  _ This  _ isn’t your fault.”

Tucker looked away. “I have to blame something, Kai.” His voice barely worked. “I can’t- I can’t lose Wash for no reason.”

“The reason is… That the world is shitty. It just happens, alright? It’s not a perfect place. Me and Grif didn’t go through a horrible upbringing for no reason; we went through it because the world fucking  _ sucks.  _ But there’s people in it like Wash that remind us to keep going. Like Caboose, or sometimes Dex, or even Church.”

Tucker looked up at that, caught off-guard- not by the ghost of griefs past, but by the way she said it.  _ “What?  _ Church was an asshole, Kai. When did he give us a reason to keep going?”

“He was an asshole, and self-centered, and flawed as any of us, but he was kind of our leader for a while. And he kept us together, and even if he was an ass about it, and he was, he could motivate us.”

She wasn’t wrong. Church had been Tucker’s best friend for a reason, and it wasn’t just because they were both assholes. Tucker breathed deeply, and felt it hit him. He’d been numb, an apathetic kind of panic, probably what a doctor would call shock, for hours. But now he was feeling it.

“What am I gonna do if he dies, Kai?”

She reached over and patted his leg. “You’ll get through it, just like you get through everything. How many times have you thought your life was ruined? Irrevocably over?”

Tucker let out a bitter laugh. “Way,  _ way  _ too many. But that was different- this is-”

“You thought it was over when you lost a limb. That wasn’t something you’d gone through, so it was different from any other time. You know you can get through this, whatever happens. And if he lives, all the better.”

He finally met her eyes, shining brown, strong and warm and the support none of their other friends could offer. “I was gonna propose to him tonight.”

He half-expected her sympathy, but instead Kaikaina just gave him the faintest smile and said, “Then you wait until he’s better, and you do it anyway. And if he doesn’t get better… Then, fuck it. We’ll tell everyone you proposed this morning and he said yes. He told me last week he’d marry you any time you decided you wanted to, even if it’s not legal yet, so, fuck it.”

Tucker loved Kaikaina Grif, she was a beautiful human being, and he didn’t just mean her boobs. He didn’t know what he’d do without her. He sighed.

“I was an ass to our friends, wasn’t I?”

Kaikaina shrugged. “They kind of just expect that from you; I wouldn’t put too much thought about it. Hey- wanna see if we can get sympathy chicken nuggets from Grif? Might make you feel better to troll him for a while.”

Tucker shrugged. “Beats burning my tongue on this disgusting coffee and sulking in a corner alone. Sure; let’s do it.”

His chest was still heavy, his panic still clutching the back of his brain, but he needed people right now. He’d had his shock and his alone time, and he needed friendship and warmth and the same assholes. Because life did go on, and whatever happened tonight, life would go on.

It might be harder, and he didn’t know if he’d ever really recover from this, but life would go on.

 

**~W~**

 

It was three days before Tucker got any news.

Three days of torture, and he was impatient at the best of times, and this was  _ hell.  _ Three days of snapping at random hospital staff, tracking them down later and apologizing, generally to have them say it was normal. Three days of a bed that hadn’t been so empty in almost a year.

And a year ago, from that third day, had been the date that reconciled Tucker with Washington- the non-date that ended so badly and ultimately saved everything. And Tucker didn’t remember things like dates, or exact months of anything. He didn’t even remember the exact day Church died; that shit was blocked from his memory for good. He was pretty sure it had been in October- but he didn’t want to think about that. Not today.

The doctor came out into the waiting room and saw Tucker, who had been up there every day.

“I’m sorry, are you his family?”

The word  _ husband  _ was craved by Tucker’s tongue, but that wasn’t true anyway. “I’m his fiance.”

The doctor looked uncomfortable. “Oh. Only family can make the final decision.”

Tucker’s brow twitched. “I said I’m his fiance; that’s basically family, right? Spouses count. I’ve seen a woman make- wait, final decision? What’s happened?”

His heart pounded. The doctor’s discomfort grew. “I’m sorry, sir, but that can only be discussed with-”

Tucker’s vision was tunneling. His hand snapped to the doctor’s collar, yanking him close. “What the fuck is happening back there!? I can get his mother here  _ tonight-  _ but you have to tell me- I’ll pass the news to her-  _ what’s happening to Washington!?” _

A police officer stepped forward, overweight and pale-faced. “Is there a problem here?”

Tucker dropped the doctor and stepped back. “No. I just need to know what’s happening.”

“I’m sorry, really, but family only.”

The injustice of it all had Tucker’s blood roaring in his ears. The doctor headed back behind the door.

Fuck.

Tucker had never known despair like this, the fear that something awful had happened-  _ final decision-  _ that sounded like a plug-pull.

Tucker forced himself to breathe. There was a payphone downstairs; he’d kept Washington’s mother’s number in his phone, and, he didn’t need a payphone, fuck. His brain was all muddled and twisted. Fuck. If he could just get his heart to stop pounding like that- it hadn’t settled down in days-

Tucker walked downstairs anyway. He needed fresh air. Out on the street, a fine drizzle misted across Tampa, bringing humidity with it from the Gulf. Tucker called Washington’s mother, and he didn’t really remember much of the conversation but she was on her way to the airport by the time they got off the phone. Tucker bought her ticket after a lengthy process of calling multiple airports.

When Tucker got back to the third-floor waiting room, the same doctor came back out. Old, wrinkly, nose had at least been broken once, graying blonde hair. Tucker kinda hated him. Didn’t want him anywhere near Washington. Knew this guy was experienced and more likely to take good care of Washington. Hated himself for not wanting a doctor around his boyfriend.

The doctor approached him. “I received a call from a Mrs. Kathy Stone, and she insisted you’re allowed to speak in her place. That’s not supposed to happen, but she wants you to at least know the situation, and we’re supposed to call her to confirm your decision. So she’s technically still deciding, but… You get some sway.”

It was obviously hard for this guy to say it, and Tucker just stared him down. Guy was probably conservative. Fucking conservative asshole.

Tucker took a deep breath. “Alright. What’s the news? What decision has to be made?”

He had to be mature about this. He had to keep a level head. He couldn’t explode, couldn’t be impulsive- he was a black dude trying to check on his male fiance, for fuck’s sake, he had to be the picture of civility.

“The damage to his throat might be irreparable. There’s no way to know if he’ll ever be able to speak again, or breathe on his own. In the lack of his ability to consent, whether or not the plug is pulled falls to his next of kin.”

Tucker couldn’t believe his ears. “Wait, so, he’s okay?”

“He’s going to permanently rely on some sort of breather- at best, he’ll recover within a week, and be able to live almost normally, though the damage to his larynx means his voice will be raspy at best-”

_ “What the fuck!?” _

Well, there went civility.

“You made it out like he was  _ dying!  _ He’s fine! We both  _ already know sign language,  _ you insensitive white-coat  _ fuck!”  _ Tucker forced himself to breathe, and almost laughed, grinning because he was so pissed he didn’t know what else to do. “Are you fucking  _ serious?  _ He’s just back there, hooked up to some oxygen, and you want me to kill him because he can’t breathe? That’s a lawsuit, you homophobic asshole!”

“Hey, my nephew’s gay-”

“Ooh, big deal, your fucking nephew’s gay. Still doesn’t make you an ally, dickhead. Go call his mother back! What the fuck! You’ve got that poor old woman flying down from  _ Washington state  _ because your clenched asshole can’t stand a gay living! Fuck.  _ Off.” _

The man was livid, staring Tucker down, and Tucker dared him to fucking do something about it. Old fuck couldn’t say anything against it; the love of Tucker’s life was back there dying, and this guy was making it out like a fucking vocal disability meant he should die. Tucker didn’t give a shit how long it took Washington to breathe on his own. He’d stay at this hospital till  _ he  _ died if it meant being with Washington.

“So, if he’s fine, can I go see him?”

The doctor stared down Tucker, and then gestured to the hallway. “The mother okayed it.”

As Tucker walked down the hall, for the first time, he saw the dusky blue color of the wall border. He saw the painting of the orchid on the wall, soft pastel in ivory and jade and lavender. He saw color again.

He reached Washington’s door and poked his head in first. Washington was awake. Tucker wanted to cry to see those gray eyes again; three days without them had been an eternity.

His feet carried him to the bed in a surreal kind of moment, and he held Washington’s hand in his and smiled down at Washington, and Washington smiled back. And Washington’s hand was warm, and he was  _ alive,  _ and this was so much better than anything Tucker had been imagining. 

He looked down as he saw Washington raise his hand.

_ I love you. _

Tucker smiled back. “I love you, too.”

_ Sorry I missed our date. _

Tucker rolled his eyes. “Okay, asshole. Because that’s what I care about.”

Washington grinned, but it was strained.  _ Does it change anything if I can’t talk? _

Tucker leaned down and touched his lips to his boyfriend’s, and then met his eyes with earnest.

“It changes nothing. I’m yours, no matter what happens.”


	13. Sunset

_ And ever on, the wind blows. The moon shines and the sun shows. _

 

Mrs. Stone got into Tampa at six a.m. the next morning, and made Tucker realize maybe he should’ve talked to her about the proposal thing, anyway. He hadn’t forgotten her, exactly- he just couldn’t think of a reason she’d say no.

He met her at the airport and drove her back to the apartment; the poor woman looked exhausted. They’d been on the phone during all of her layovers, sometimes just Tucker ranting about the awful treatment by the hospital staff, other times putting her on speaker with Washington while Tucker translated Washington’s signing. 

Mrs. Stone looked much the same as he remembered her. Plump, short, knowing. They reached Tucker’s apartment and Tucker walked her upstairs, carrying her bags for her, trying to be a gentleman (though he’d never really learned how). As Tucker walked in, he went to Caboose’s room, which he’d cleaned earlier that night, and set down her bags. Caboose would be staying with the Grifs for the following week while Mrs. Stone was in town, because while Tucker’s bed was comfier than Caboose’s, Tucker couldn’t bring himself to put Washington’s mother in the bed where Tucker and Washington fucked.

“This is the room where Wash and I sleep, that’s Caboose’s room, where you’ll be staying. The sheets were just changed a couple days ago, and he slept on the couch since, so it should be clean. Uh… Help yourself to whatever’s in the kitchen. There’s not too much, but we’ll go grocery shopping tomorrow; I wanted to make sure I got things you like. Caboose and I are kinda… Not picky.”

Mrs. Stone sent him a curious look, and then opened the freezer. Tucker’s cheeks heated as his eyes fell on the contents. Pizza rolls. Ice cream. Frozen waffles. More pizza rolls. A frozen pizza. A sock full of butter.

Mrs. Stone pulled out the sock. “What is-?”

“It’s not mine.” Tucker said it too fast and cleared his throat. “Um. That’s our neighbor’s, his name is Donut, he’s kinda… Eccentric.”

“Lavernius. This is a butter sock.”

She always sounded more and more like his grandmother, holy fuck. “He… I kinda won a pair of booty shorts from him in a game of poker and thought it would be a fun prank to put powdered cayenne pepper in the crotch region…? We found out he doesn’t wear underwear with his shorts and I was disgusted because  _ I  _ had worn them and-”

“Did you wear underwear with them?”

Tucker scratched the back of his neck and couldn’t meet her eyes. “Can we just- can we just summarize it to I was justifiably beaten by a surprisingly well-muscled man wearing pink booty shorts and howling in pain?”

Mrs. Stone just turned back to the freezer.

She opened the fridge and went through its contents. Tucker sat on the couch, exhausted by the long night at the hospital; he hadn’t left Washington’s side once he knew he was okay. It had been hard to leave just to get Mrs. Stone from the airport. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out. A text from Washington:  _ Miss you already. How’s Mom? _

Tucker glanced up at her, and then texted back:  _ She’s rummaging through our fridge. You got rid of the glitter condom, right? _

A pause, and then one single word from Washington:  _ FUCK. _

Tucker closed the phone with a quiet laugh, and then just waited. It only took a few minutes for Mrs. Stone to remove it from the fridge, holding up a condom packed with water, food coloring, and glitter.

“If this has a story even half as unfavorable as the butter-sock, I don’t think I want to know.”

“That… Was going to be revenge for the butter-sock.”

She stared at him for a moment. “You know Dave is thirty-one years old, right?”

Tucker met her eyes with a grin. “I know. But I don’t think  _ he  _ does.”

She heaved a sigh and put the glitter-condom back in the fridge and closed it. Well, this wasn’t going according to plan. Mrs. Stone crossed the counter and leaned on it.

“May I ask you something?”

Tucker looked up and nodded. “Go ahead; I’m an open book.”

“What are your plans with my son?”

Tucker paused, debating what to tell her. The ring was now in his sock drawer, tucked in a pair of socks he never wore (partly because they didn’t fit right on both “feet”). Mrs. Stone’s arms were folded, her expression a bit more guarded than usual- and he wondered what had her so defensive.

“I love him,” Tucker said.

“And he loves you, a  _ lot,”  _ she said. “But he doesn’t think you’re ever going to commit for real.”

Tucker’s eyes widened. “What does that mean? We already live together, everyone in my life knows about him and knows I love him- it’s not like marriage is legal for us- is that it? Does he want some kind of proposal?”

And he was kind of testing the waters there, wondering if Washington had talked to his mom about it, especially after what Kaikaina had said a few nights ago. Mrs. Stone seemed to measure Tucker.

“Would you be willing to do that, if he wanted it?”

_ “Does  _ he want it?”

“Of course he does; he’s head over heels for you. But I’m not convinced you return it.”

Tucker sighed, raising his eyebrows, and then stood. “Alright, come on.”

He headed toward his room as she followed behind, still seeming guarded. Tucker turned on the light, illuminating the mess in his room and trying to ignore it. He reached in the sock drawer and dug in the back till he found the pair, and then pulled out the velvet box. He flipped it open, flashing it at her.

“Does this reassure you at all?”

Her eyes widened, lips parting in silent gasp. “It’s  _ beautiful!” _

Tucker nodded. “It was my grandfather’s. It’s not so gaudy that Wash won’t want to wear it, and it’s not so plain that he’ll feel unappreciated. And it’s a family heirloom, and he’s such a sap that he should love that. Does that make you feel better?”

Mrs. Stone looked up at hm, back at the ring, and back at him. “I’ve only one more question, then.”

“Shoot.”

“You still call him Wash; whose last name is changing?”

The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

_ “Fuck.” _

 

**~W~**

 

It was nice to have a maternal figure around. It had been a  _ long  _ time.

Washington’s mom adopted the whole bunch with ease; no one wanted to leave Tucker alone, and everyone wanted news on Washington. Kaikaina especially bonded with her- and that was really nice to see, to Tucker at least, because Kaikaina was so free and wild and bold that having someone to tell her to pull back on the reins was a comfort. Even Grif seemed happy, once Mrs. Stone cooked for them all.

“I’ve just got one request, Tucker,” she said on her third day at the apartment, over a pot of divine-smelling chili. Tucker’s mouth watered as he waited for dinner to finish.

“What’s that?”

“You have to propose while I’m still in town.”

He cracked a grin. “I can do that.”

Maybe a hospital wasn’t the most romantic setting, but, fuck it. A broom closet hadn’t been, either.

So the fifth day of Washington’s mother’s visit, eight days after the accident, Tucker went to the hospital in his best suit, now dry-cleaned after the long night he’d spent last time he wore it. He drove all the way across town to the yard of Sarge’s old friend Kimball, because they’d talked and Tucker knew she had one thing he didn’t have access to anywhere else, and he needed that thing.

Magnolia bloom tucked in his suit pocket, he headed back out.

He even stopped for Starbucks on the way.

He arrived at the hospital sharp-dressed and carrying a boombox and a coffee, garnering attention from many he passed. In the elevator on his way up, a woman who must’ve been reaching ninety years old gave him a crinkled crescent smile and asked the occasion.

“I’m proposing.”

“That’s nice. I proposed once, but the desert told me it wasn’t time. Ah, well- it was a pretty flood. When I finally settled down, we had the most beautiful garden…”

She rambled on as they went up, and Tucker smiled and nodded, because this was formal Tucker, and she reminded him of his grandmother after the fire that almost killed her. And that kind of thing warranted some sympathy. When they parted ways, Tucker wished her well with the umbrella hat she was now talking about. She continued to talk, to the wall now, as the door closed, and he stuck his hand back in the door and stepped back in.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, what floor are you going to?”

“The ninth.”

There were only seven floors. Tucker mashed the button to keep the doors open. “May I escort you to your room?”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “Why? Are we gonna do it like we did in ‘77?”

Tucker clamped his jaw shut to hold down everything that came to mind to respond to that with, and then cleared his throat. “No, ma’am. I just need to make sure you’ll make it to where you’re going okay. Come with me, please?” Change tactics, he decided. “We’ll go find your husband.”

“I had a wife, once, too,” she said, as they exited the elevator. “Her name was Bethany, but we called her Mother Theresa.” She leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Until the peyote.”

“Right. Naturally.”

Tucker found a nurse wearing Eeyore scrubs. “Hi, I think this woman is lost.”

“Mrs. Debony! Come with me, please, we’ll get you back to the ice cream truck.” The woman glanced at Tucker. “Thank you. Sorry about that.”

Tucker smiled. “No problem.”

And then he looked up- and saw Washington shuffling into the hall.

Tucker’s heart stopped for a fraction of a second at the sight. He was in a hospital gown, and obviously weak, but he was walking on his own, no breather or anything. He grinned at Tucker and Tucker grinned back.

Washington’s hands flashed.  _ I saw you coming through the window. _

“Sir! Please! Get back in your room!” A male nurse said, approaching Washington quickly. “You’re not supposed to be off your breather!”

You didn’t need to know sign language to understand the middle finger Washington flashed at the nurse. He shuffled on toward Tucker and Tucker walked to meet him. Washington raised an appraising eyebrow at Tucker’s choice of dress.

_ What’s the occasion? _

Tucker smiled. “Let’s get you back to your room and we’ll talk about that.”

_ Is my mother getting a hot date tonight? _

Tucker chuckled, starting to escort Washington back to the room. “Not exactly.”

Somewhere down the hall, a doctor rushed up behind them, but they were in the room before Washington could get reprimanded again. He laid down on the bed and allowed the doctor to rearrange the breathing tubes with gentle hands and frustrated eyes. Washington simply laid there and accepted it, seeming quite content.

The doctor approached Tucker.  _ “Don’t  _ let him back up! He’s doing good with his breathing exercises, but if he strains himself, he could cause more permanent damage!”

“Is there any  _ not  _ permanent damage?” Tucker asked. “Fuck, that’s all you guys talk about!”

The doctor- a different one than the one that asked if Tucker wanted to pull the plug due to a vocal disability (what plug that would be he didn’t know)- seemed frustrated, but had been dealing with them for the better part of a week, and just sighed.

“If you want your fiance to come home with you, he needs to stay in bed.”

The doctor walked out and Tucker flashed a grin at Washington, and then walked over to the bed. “So- you know that part he said about fiance?”

Washington’s eyes widened. His hands raised.  _ Are you about to ask that? _

Tucker took a deep breath. “Woo, I always thought your cheesy ass would be the one to do this, but your mom said you were dead-set certain you’d scare me away if you did. I’m not that afraid of commitment, you know.”

Washington just stared at him, and Tucker cleared his throat, his heart thrumming so rapidly he only felt an array of fluttering in his chest. His throat was dry and he forced himself to swallow as he got down on one knee.

Washington gaped and Tucker took Washington’s hand. “Wash-  _ David-  _ you are the first person I ever let myself love, and it was never really even up to me. I’ve been in love with you… Fuck, since Iraq. Since the night we thought Church died.” He hadn’t meant to mention Church in his proposal speech, but he’d completely forgotten the words he’d been planning, and he was kind of just winging it now. “I don’t know how long it’s been for you. But I do know this: you’re the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. I love you, and I want to be with you and commit to you in every way I can. And maybe it’s not legal yet, but someday it will be, and then we can make it official. But I looked it up, and we can still have the ceremony, and do things like own a house together and share a bank account and- I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

Tucker cut himself off with a chuckle and cleared his throat again, smiling at the love of his life. “I’ve been telling these doctors you’re my fiance for a week, and the only thing that made me uncomfortable was that I couldn’t just say you’re my husband. I love you, more than I’ve ever loved anyone, more than I love myself. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He fished the box out of his pocket. “Which brings me to my final question.” He’d planned a big, cheesy grin, but he couldn’t manage it in the moment. Just a genuine smile and a lot of feelings and his vision kind of blurred but shale gray eyes shone just as vivid.

“David Washington, will you marry me?”

Washington sat up, and a rasp came from his throat:

_ “Yes.” _

Tucker took the ring from the box and slid it onto Washington’s ring finger, and then rose from his kneel and took Washington’s face in his hands. He pressed a long kiss to him, happier than he’d ever been, as Washington wrapped an arm around him.

All of Tucker’s nerves evaporated. Washington’s mother approved, all their friends had been pushing for this, they had the cat, Caboose, each other- Washington had just managed to say yes- to  _ say  _ it. Tucker was in a state of absolute ecstasy. His grandfather’s ring, on Washington’s finger.

It all felt right. Everything clicked.

A hospital wasn’t the most romantic setting, but right then it was an atmosphere of utmost love.


	14. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter! I hope you've enjoyed so far, and that the ending meets all your expectations. I absolutely loved writing this, and I've loved every comment/kudos/all kinds of feedback I've received since I started posting it. Thanks all! <3

_ Stars, moon, sun- it was all poetic bullshit. All that mattered was love. _

 

For all the women of the world, it was a day of utmost tragedy: the day Lavernius Tucker got married.

For David Washington, it was the happiest day of his life.

Washington woke that morning with an optimism he’d never known. He’d thought the happiest moment of his life had been when Tucker showed up on his doorstep at six in the morning after sixteen months apart. Then he’d thought the happiest moment was when he and Tucker kissed at the Killers concert. Again, new happiest moment when Tucker accepted him and immediately forgave him for shutting him out. Impossibly better when Tucker first called him his boyfriend.  _ Divine  _ when Tucker confessed love. The purest bliss when Tucker proposed.

But today, today was the day Washington would promise himself in the ultimate commitment to the love of his life. To the fucking nerd who tried so hard to be cool, to the “not a hipster” who knew True Indie Music™, to the guy who claimed he was straight even after fucking another dude in a broom closet. To the most perfect person on the whole planet.

Washington stretched in his bed, disgruntled at the lack of Tucker next to him. But they’d agreed to do the traditional  _ not seeing each other till the ceremony  _ thing. As much as Washington wanted to reach out and pull Tucker close and shower him with kisses, he was content to know that from here out he could do that every day. Sleep with Tucker, wake up with Tucker, shower with Tucker, eat with him.  _ Lavernius-  _ the name sang on his tongue, once something he’d jokingly made fun of mid-argument, now something more noble, regal, old-fashioned. Nothing like the Tucker Washington knew, but still good.

Washington climbed out of bed and showered. Shaved close and fine, applied after-shave, called Donut. Donut had been an essential part of the planning, helping find tuxes that matched eye colors and hairstyles that fit aesthetics. Kaikaina had been helpful, too, though more in the entertainment segment. She planned most of the reception.

Donut showed up half an hour later, appearing displeased and soaked. And- glittery.  _ Fucking really? Really, Tucker?  _ Washington sighed as Donut walked in.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why he’s like this.”

Donut sighed, toweling off. “Well, now I have to shower before we can get to work. You’re lucky you called me so early or we’d really be in a pickle!”

Washington grinned. “All your idea!”

“Yeah, and what would you fools do without me?” Donut muttered as he stepped into the bathroom of the new house. “Toss me a shirt and dry shorts, would ya? I’m gonna hop in the shower.”

The morning of his wedding, and Washington would spend it under the roof of a naked midwesterner with Fabio hair.

Not something he anticipated, but here he was.

The morning of Washington’s wedding went about as he’d expected, though he’d hoped his friends would disappoint just this once. No- Simmons and Grif got in a lovers’ quarrel that started with D&D and an obscure reference to Sarge’s toenails. Tucker’s sister was convinced by  _ someone  _ (Maine had a suspiciously mischievous look all afternoon) that Doc genetically modified puppies into “the dog equivalent of centaurs” and was some kind of evil mad scientist. Caboose was somehow lost by the chocolate fountain- at the reception hall, not even the scene of the wedding- around eleven in the morning, very confused about how moving chocolate was supposed to be useful.

_ And  _ someone gave Washington’s mother directions to the wedding location- that placed her in a field of cows half an hour away from the beach.

It was a good thing  _ punctual  _ in the Washington household meant “early.”

Washington didn’t know why he’d expected anything else.

But when he finally arrived to the beach, in his suit and with his hair styled, all his apprehension faded. There was no need to stress- Sarge could come sailing in on a giant robot cat-dragon shooting roman candles into the crowd and Washington wouldn’t care, so long as Tucker was there with that loving look. Besides, all Washington’s unnecessary stress had gotten him was prematurely gray hair, and he couldn’t look like an old fuck with Tucker on his arm. Tucker was way too hot to be with some old-ass man.

Somehow, Washington had always known Tucker was the kind of guy who’d get married on a beach. Swaying palm trees, salty sea air, warm breeze coming in off the Gulf- it just made sense. 

The shenanigans didn’t stop there, of course.

Grif and Simmons made up, and as Washington paced the reception hall a quarter-mile from the beach set-up he caught them stealing chocolate-dunked strawberries from by the fountain. Caboose kept suggesting a  _ three-way,  _ saying they should all three get married, and Washington didn’t know how to explain to him  _ why  _ that made people blush and turn away.

As it turned out, to add onto the general tomfoolery, there was a  _ second Tucker. _ Tucker had spent a good amount of time at the local rec-center in his Detroit neighborhood, and had found someone else with the last name Tucker, a half-black kid with eyes as blue as Tucker’s, and had nicknamed him Junior. This kid was now in adulthood, at college with a basketball scholarship, and hit on Kaikaina within a few minutes of meeting her. (Eliciting a surprisingly aggressive reaction from Caboose, who put himself between Junior and Kaikaina and then picked up Kaikaina and carried her away.)

“You ready? Just five more minutes.”

Washington turned with a deep breath to his best man. “Do I look okay? Do I deserve him? What if he doesn’t actually love me and this is all just a huge mistake and he’s just trying to be a good person to make me happy and-”

“How much espresso did you order in your Starbucks?”

“Approximately zero. Ten. Seven. It was five. Plus one.”

Carolina sighed and laughed. “Six espresso shots on your wedding day? If you piss yourself during the ceremony, I’m gonna pretend I don’t know you.” Carolina walked forward and straightened Washington’s tie. “There- you’re  _ perfect.  _ And he does love you. Now stop being so nervous! You two found your soulmate, and should feel damn lucky for it!”

Washington stared down at her. “Do you think you found yours? Does it- does it matter if it’s fate, or just what makes you happy?”

Carolina smiled and patted his cheek. “All that matters is how much you two love each other. And I’ve never seen two people as happy as you and Tucker. I could see it back in Iraq, just didn’t want to say anything and get anyone in trouble.”

Washington’s cheeks reddened, but he grinned, making himself relax. “Thanks, Carolina. So- it’s time to head out?”

“They’re lining up now.”

Washington nodded. It wouldn’t be a traditional ceremony, mainly because there was no bride to ceremoniously walk down the aisle and they’d decided not to incorporate religion due to differing views, but it would be full of love. That’s all Washington cared about.

Washington made it to the altar first. Altar was a loose term- it was a white trellis archway, adorned with magnolias, set on a small wooden platform on the beach. All his friends and family sat in the crowd, a hush falling over them as they waited. Washington had thought this would feel like some kind of performance art- having to recite lines and profess his feelings in front of an audience- but that all changed as soon as he laid eyes on his fiance.

Tucker came out all smooth smiles, hair freshly trimmed, eyes bright, waving to people as he walked down the aisle. When he reached Washington, in front of the minister and everything, he grabbed him and swooped him down into his arm, salsa-style. Tucker’s mouth found Washington’s and kissed him hard for a moment, and then lifted him back up and let go. Tucker straightened his suit.

“Alright. Woo.” He turned to the priest. “Just needed to do that. Remind me why I’m here, y’know? Alright, let’s do this shindig!”

Washington stared at his fiance for a second, and then laughed and clasped his hands. “Right, yeah. Let’s do it.”

“Bow-chicka-bow-wow,” Tucker said, and Washington peripherally saw Tucker’s sister glare, as her seven-year-old sat next to her.

The minister cleared his throat and Tucker fell silent, sending the man a grin. Washington loved this goofy ass man, and all his horribly improper friends, and the life they’d built.

The ceremony fluttered by on a warm breeze, a beachy sunset, orange light glowing on sky-blue eyes. Words of love were shared, personal and sappy, humorous and fragrant and savory and all good things. And there was a little more tongue in the first kiss as spouses than Washington expected, but he didn’t care, because within a few years gay marriage would be legal and this man would in every way be his husband.

They kept their own names, for the sake of familiarity, but everyone they cared about and loved knew: Washington was Tucker’s as Tucker was his, and that would never change.

 

**~W~**

 

“No, Kaikaina, please dance with me!”

“Junior,  _ I have a boyfriend!  _ If you had caught me, like, two years ago, we’d probably be something, but Michael is good for me. I’m sorry. Go try hitting on Tucker’s sister again!”

“I can’t hit on Sheila! She’ll hit me!”

“There’s a lot of women! You’ll find someone!”

Couples danced on the floor as Tucker laughed at Kaikaina successfully warding off Junior’s fourth attempt to get her to dance with him. If he kept it up, he’d unleash the beast- and Caboose was not someone you wanted to mess with.

A graceful gold-haired figure, ridiculously handsome, swept up next to Tucker. “All  _ tuckered  _ out?”

Tucker looked over at his husband with folded arms and a grin. “How long have you been waiting to use that pun?”

“A good while.”

Tucker chuckled. “I did the cha-cha slide, I jumped on it, I started the conga line, electric slid till my legs shook, I did it all. I’m utterly exhausted. I even Cupid-shuffled and learned some Swedish line dance that Maine inexplicably knew.”

“There’s one dance you’ve yet to do,” Washington said, a smile curving his lips. Tucker still wasn’t over getting to hear Washington’s voice- it had taken six months of constant therapy to get it to where it was now, and the rasp still affected it, but he could speak. He could  _ laugh.  _ Tucker had once accepted never hearing that laugh or those words again, and hadn’t cared for a second because he’d stay with this man no matter what, but it was still the sweetest sound in the world to hear Washington’s laugh.

But back to the matter at hand.

“I danced with you first,” Tucker said. “Literally, it was called the  _ first dance  _ and everything.”

“That was the choreographed dance we worked on for two months. I want this dance to just be us- no careful steps, just another couple in the crowd. And… I have a special song coming on in just a second, per request of the DJ.”

Tucker eyed him suspiciously. “If it’s ‘Cotton-Eyed Joe,’ I’m divorcing you.”

But when the chords started, Tucker recognized it and rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright, fine, let’s go.”

Washington took Tucker’s hand in his own and led him out into the crowd, sweeping him into a waltz position. Tucker chuckled, shaking his head.

“I didn’t know you were such a dancer, Sergeant.”

Washington grinned at him. “You might have the more flashy dance moves, but I’m a traditionalist, alright? My mom wasn’t going to raise a kid who couldn’t even dance with the love of his life.”

Tucker smiled, remembering a time he’d thought he’d never get to dance like this again. Well- it had never been like  _ this.  _ But dancing in general had always been a precious sort of excitement for Tucker, pure energy and rhythm, a universal language. Then he’d lost his leg, and when he learned to dance with his prosthetic he’d thought was as good as it would get. This was much better than anything he’d imagined.

The song carried around them, words drifting over the crowd, a familiar acoustic cover Tucker couldn’t  _ believe  _ Washington exposed to all their friends. But with Washington’s hand in his and all the love in the room, Tucker couldn’t bring himself to say anything about it.

They danced until the song ended, danced some more as couple shuffled away. Kaikaina and Caboose said their goodbyes; Carolina and Maine left to their hotel room. Grif and Simmons had disappeared at some point, probably to an abandoned broom-closet, more hopefully just back to their apartment. Sarge excused himself, having fallen head-over-heels for Washington’s old doctor. Doc and Donut appeared and said their goodbyes, congratulating the two and noting that now they could all complain about married life together. Tucker laughed along, but didn’t think he’d ever find a thing to really complain about.

He was blissfully happy, and despite his exhausted legs he stayed on the dance floor with Washington until the DJ went home. 

Only then did they leave; the honeymoon could come tomorrow, but tonight Tucker just wanted Washington to himself, in their bed. In their new house. And it meant they couldn’t take a limo out and leave the reception in style, but he was fine with that. There would be time for limos later in life, or not, what did it matter, he had Wash.

They reached their little house, ten miles from the beachfront, and exited their car. Tucker had just finished unlocking the door when he was suddenly swept off his feet and carried into the house. He laughed at his grinning husband.

“Wash, you fucking  _ dork.” _

“I’m a traditionalist!”

Washington set him down and grinned, adding, “Tell me you don’t wish you’d thought of it.”

“Okay, yeah, I wish I’d been the one to carry you in. I think it would’ve been fitting, since I basically played the bride at our wedding.”

“I think you’re just arrogant.”

Tucker rolled his eyes, grinning, and stepped closer, pushing the door closed behind Washington. “And you’re old. You can say ‘traditionalist’ all you want, but you’re still old.”

Washington wrapped his arms around Tucker’s sides. “Well, you picked me anyway.”

Tucker leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to Washington’s nose. “That’s true.” He paused, and then asked, “So now what?”

“What do you mean? Don’t we, you know,” Washington leaned down,  _ “Bow-chicka-bow-wow?” _

“You sound so  _ nerdy  _ when you say it! That’s awful!”

Washington laughed and kissed Tucker. “Well, what do you mean, then?”

“What do we  _ do?  _ We’re married now, we reached top-tier of relationships! We’re two gay dudes living together with their cat, about to go on their honeymoon! What comes next?”

“Happily ever after, I guess.”

Tucker rolled his eyes again. “You’re so  _ cheesy.” _

Tucker kissed him, deep and impassioned. Cheesy, old, sometimes kinda stoic, a fucking  _ nerd-  _ Tucker didn’t care about any of it. He had Washington, and he had love, and that was all that mattered.

And maybe it wouldn’t be happily-ever-after, because real life didn’t account for those kinds of dreams. But real life also didn’t usually include soul-mates, and Tucker had been lucky enough to basically find his. So… Not happily ever after, maybe. 

But definitely happy enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! Moral of the story? There's not necessarily one, and I won't try to force it. Ultimately: Go after your dreams. Even if the journey is hard, even when it seems the world is tearing it all away, the triumph and love at the end of the road is what matters most. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. <3

**Author's Note:**

> "Past character death" in the tags refers to Church; the story will be broken between the current timeline and a series of flashbacks. There will be individual warnings on chapters were certain things happen! The actual moment of Church's death will not be written, but the flashbacks will come close to it. PTSD will be a prominent theme throughout the work.


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